Ye Fearful Saints Fresh Courage Take, The

Where Men Of Judgment Creep And Feel Their Way, The Positive Pronounce Without Dismay.

Nor Rural Sights Alone, But Rural Sounds, Exhilirate The Spirit, And Restore The Tone Of Languid Nature.

Those Flimsy Webs That Break As Soon As Wrought, Attain Not To The Dignity Of Thought.

Man In Society Is Like A Flow'r, Blown In Its Native Bed. 'tis There Alone His Faculties Expanded In Full Bloom Shine Out, There Only Reach Their Proper Use.

Fate Steals Along With Silent Tread, Found Oftenest In What Least We Dread; Frowns In The Storm With Angry Brow, But In The Sunshine Strikes The Blow.