The Young Disease, That Must Subdue At

One Thought Of Thee Puts All The Pomp To Flight; Priests, Tapers, Temples, Swim Before My Sight.

Like Cato, Give His Little Senate Laws, And Sit Attentive To His Own Applause.

Expression Is The Dress Of Thought.

Heaven Forming Each On Other To Depend, A Master, Or A Servant, Or A Friend, Bids Each On Other For Assistance Call, Till One Man's Weakness Grows The Strength Of All.

Is Not Absence Death To Those Who Love?