Religion, Richest Favor Of The Skies.

The Innocent Seldom Find An Uncomfortable Pillow.

The Fall Of Waters And The Song Of Birds, And Hills That Echo To The Distant Berds, Are Luxuries Excelling All The Glare The World Can Boast, And Her Chief Favorites Share.

Visits Are Insatiable Devourers Of Time, And Fit Only For Those Who, If They Did Not That, Would Do Nothing.

A Glory Gilds The Sacred Page, Majestic Like The Sun, It Gives A Light To Every Age, It Gives, But Borrows None.

Could He With Reason Murmur At His Case, Himself Sole Author Of His Own Disgrace?