It Were A Journey Like The Path

No Mighty Trance, Or Breathed Spell Inspires The Pale-eyed Priest From The Prophetic Cell.

To Hear The Lark Begin His Flight, And Singing Startle The Dull Night, From His Watch-tower In The Skies, Till The Dappled Dawn Doth Rise.

Beholding The Bright Countenance Of Truth In The Quiet And Still Air Of Delightful Studies.

When Complaints Are Freely Heard, Deeply Considered And Speedily Reformed, Then Is The Utmost Bound Of Civil Liberty Attained That Wise Men Look For.

O Fleeting Joys Of Paradise, Dear Bought With Lasting Woes!