There Are Certain Times When Most People

While Man Exclaims, "see All Things For My Use!" "see Man For Mine!" Replies A Pamper'd Goose.

A Pear-tree Planted Nigh: 'twas Charg'd With Fruit That Made A Goodly Show, And Hung With Dangling Pears Was Every Bough.

Cavil You May, But Never Criticise.

Here Hills And Vales, The Woodland And The Plain Here Earth And Water Seem To Strive Again, Not Chaos-like Together Crushed And Bruised, But, As The World, Harmoniously Confused: Where Order In Variety We See, And Where, Though All Things Differ, All Agree.

Why Has Not Man A Microscopic Eye? For This Plain Reason, Man Is Not A Fly. Say What The Use, Were Finer Optics Giv'n, T' Inspect A Mite, Not Comprehend The Heav'n.