The Religious Man Fears, The Man Of

Music, The Greatest Good That Mortals Know And All Of Heaven We Have Hear Below.

The Statue Lies Hid In A Block Of Marble; And The Art Of The Statuary Only Clears Away The Superfluous Matter, And Removes The Rubbish.

Amidst The Soft Variety I'm Lost.

Must One Rash Word, The Infirmity Of Age, Throw Down The Merit Of My Better Years?

Eternity! Thou Pleasing, Dreadful Thought.