Every Thing Possible To Be Believ'd Is

Tools Were Made And Born Were Hands, Every Farmer Understands.

Come O'er The Eastern Hills, And Let Our Winds Kiss Thy Perfumed Garments; Let Us Taste Thy Morn And Evening Breath; Scatter Thy Pearls Upon Our Love-sick Land That Mourns For Thee.

I Was In A Printing-house In Hell, And Saw The Method In Which Knowledge Is Transmitted From Generation To Generation.

A Divine Image Cruelty Has A Human Heart, And Jealousy A Human Face; Terror The Human Form Divine, And Secresy The Human Dress. The Human Dress Is Forged Iron, The Human Form A Fiery Forge, The Human Face A Furnace Sealed, The Human Heart Its Hungry Gorge.

But To Go To School In A Summer Morn, O! It Drives All Joy Away; Under A Cruel Eye Outworn, The Little Ones Spend The Day In Sighing And Dismay.