A Gen'rous Heart Repairs A Sland'rous Tongue.

Beauty That Shocks You, Parts That None Will Trust, Wit That Can Creep, And Pride That Licks The Dust.

Hope Springs Eternal In The Human Breast; Man Never Is, But Always To Be Blest. The Soul, Uneasy, And Confin'd From Home, Rest And Expatiates In A Life To Come. Lo, The Poor Indian! Whose Untutor'd Mind Sees God In Clouds, Or Hears Him In The Wind; His Soul Proud Science Never Taught To Stray Far As The Solar Walk Or Milky Way; Yet Simple Nature To His Hope Has Giv'n, Behind The Cloud-topp'd Hill, An Humbler Heav'n.

When To The Permanent Is Sacrificed The Mutable, The Prize Is Thine: The Drop Returneth Whence It Came. The Open Path Leads To The Changeless Change - Non-being, The Glorious State Of Absoluteness, The Bliss Past Human Thought.

Trade It May Help, Society Extend, But Lures The Pirate, Ant Corrupts The Friend: It Raises Armies In A Nation's Aid, But Bribes A Senate, And The Land's Betray'd.

And Hence One Master-passion In The Breast, Like Aaron's Serpent, Swallows Up The Rest.