Tears Are The Softening Showers Which Cause

He That Would Soothe Sorrow Must Not Argue On The Vanity Of The Most Deceitful Hopes.

When Israel, Of The Lord Belov'd, Out Of The Land Of Bondage Came, Her Fathers' God Before Her Mov'd, An Awful Guide In Smoke And Flame.

Come He Slow Or Come He Fast It Is But Death That Comes At Last

Literature Is A Great Staff, But A Very Sorry Crutch.

Breathes There The Man, With Soul So Dead, Who Never To Himself Hath Said, This Is My Own, My Native Land! Whose Heart Hath Ne'er Within Him Burn'd, As Home His Footsteps He Hath Turn'd From Wandering On A Foreign Strand! If Such There Breathe, Go Mark Him Well; For Him No Minstrel Raptures Swell; High Though His Titles, Proud His Name, Boundless His Wealth As Wish Can Claim; Despite Those Titles, Power, And Pelf, The Wretch, Concentred All In Self, Living, Shall Forfeit Fair Renown, And, Doubly Dying, Shall Go Down To The Vile Dust, From Whence He Sprung, Unwept, Unhonor'd, And Unsung.