Praises Reap Not! Joys Laugh Not! Sorrows

How Can The Bird That Is Born For Joy Sit In A Cage And Sing? How Can A Child, When Fears Annoy, But Droop His Tender Wing, And Forget His Youthful Spring?

Little Lamb, Who Made Thee? Dost Thou Know Who Made Thee?

How Have You Left The Ancient Love That Bards Of Old Enjoyed In You! The Languid Strings Do Scarcely Move! The Sound Is Forced, The Notes Are Few!

Prisons Are Built With Stones Of Law. Brothels With The Bricks Of Religion.

I Have Conversed With The Spiritual Sun. I Saw Him On Primrose Hill