A Sinful Heart Makes Feeble Hand.

Guilt, Though It May Attain Temporal Splendor, Can Never Confer Real Happiness; The Evil Consequences Of Our Crimes Long Survive Their Commission, And, Like The Ghosts Of The Murdered, Forever Haunt The Steps Of The Malefactor; While The Paths Of Virtue, Though Seldom Those Of Worldly Greatness, Are Always Those Of Pleasantness And Peace.

For Deadly Fear Can Time Outgo, And Blanch At Once The Hair.

November's Sky Is Chill And Drear, November's Leaf Is Red And Sear.

Love Rules The Court, The Camp, The Grove, And Men Below, And Saints Above: For Love Is Heaven, And Heaven Is Love.

In Prosperous Times I Have Sometimes Felt My Fancy And Powers Of Language Flag, But Adversity Is To Me At Least A Tonic And Bracer.