The Volume Of Nature Is The Book

No One But A Fool Would Measure Their Satisfaction By What The World Thinks Of It.

Man Little Knows What Calamities Are Beyond His Patience To Bear Till He Tries Them; As In Ascending The Heights Of Ambition, Which Look Bright From Below, Every Step We Rise Shows Us Some New And Gloomy Prospect Of Hidden Disappointment; So In Our Descent From The Summits Of Pleasure, Though The Vale Of Misery Below May Appear, At First, Dark And Gloomy, Yet The Busy Mind, Still Attentive To Its Own Amusement, Finds, As We Descend, Something To Flatter And To Please. Still As We Approach, The Darkest Objects Appear To Brighten, And The Mortal Eye Becomes Adapted To Its Gloomy Situation.

Eternal Blessings Crown My Earliest Friend, And Round His Dwelling Guardian Saints Attend.

The Little Mind Who Loves Itself, Will Wr'te And Think With The Vulgar; But The Great Mind Will Be Bravely Eccentric, And Scorn The Beaten Road, From Universal Benevolence.

And As A Bird Each Fond Endearment Tries To Tempt Its New-fledg'd Offspring To The Skies, He Tried Each Art, Reprov'd Each Dull Delay, Allur'd To Brighter Worlds, And Led The Way.