The Still Small Voice Is Wanted.

Absence Of Occupation Is Not Rest; A Mind Quite Vacant Is A Mind Distressed.

Remorse Begets Reform.

Tis Providence Alone Secures In Every Change Both Mine And Yours.

'tis Liberty Alone That Gives The Flower Of Fleeting Life Its Lustre And Perfume; And We Are Weeds Without It.

Poor England! Thou Art A Devoted Deer, Beset With Every Ill But That Of Fear. The Nations Hunt; All Mock Thee For A Prey; They Swarm Around Thee, And Thou Stand'st At Bay.