Th' Unwilling Gratitude Of Base Mankind!

Ye Flowers That Drop, Forsaken By The Spring, Ye Birds That, Left By Summer, Cease To Sing, Ye Trees That Fade, When Autumn Heats Remove, Say, Is Not Absence Death To Those Who Love?

Our Rural Ancestors, With Little Blest, Patient Of Labor When The End Was Rest, Indulged The Day That Housed Their Annual Grain, With Feasts, And Off'rings, And A Thankful Strain.

Presumptuous Man! The Reason Wouldst Thou Find,why Form'd So Weak, So Little, And So Blind?first, If Thou Canst, The Harder Reason Guess,why Form'd No Weaker, Blinder, And No Less!ask Of Thy Mother Earth, Why Oaks Are Madetaller Or Stronger Than The Weeds They Shade?or Ask Of Yonder Argent Fields Above,why Jove's Satellites Are Less Than Jove?

No Writing Is Good That Does Not Tend To Better Mankind In Some Way Or Other.

Who Shall Decide When Doctors Disagree, And Soundest Casuists Doubt, Like You And Me?