To Him No High, No Low, No

No Silver Saints, By Dying Misers Giv'n, Here Brib'd The Rage Of Ill-requited Heav'n; But Such Plain Roofs As Piety Could Raise, And Only Vocal With The Maker's Praise.

Plays Round The Head, But Comes Not To The Heart. One Self-approving Hour Whole Years Outweighs Of Stupid Starers And Of Loud Huzzas; And More True Joy Marcellus Exil'd Feels Than Cæsar With A Senate At His Heels. In Parts Superior What Advantage Lies? Tell (for You Can) What Is It To Be Wise? 't Is But To Know How Little Can Be Known; To See All Others' Faults, And Feel Our Own.

The Dying Christian To His Soul (1712) -vital Spark Of Heav'nly Flame! Quit, Oh Quit, This Mortal Frame: Trembling, Hoping, Ling'ring, Flying, Oh The Pain, The Bliss Of Dying! Stanza 1.

Light Quirks Of Music, Broken And Uneven,make The Soul Dance Upon A Jig To Heav'n.

Reason's Whole Pleasure, All The Joys Of Sense, Lie In Three Words,-health, Peace, And Competence.