Remorse, The Fatal Egg That Pleasure Laid.

To Impute Our Recovery To Medicine, And To Carry Our View No Further, Is To Rob God Of His Honor, And Is Saying In Effect That He Has Parted With The Keys Of Life And Death, And, By Giving To A Drug The Power To Heal Us, Has Placed Our Lives Out Of His Own Reach.

Me Howling Blasts Drive Devious, Tempest-tossed, / Sails Ripped, Seams Opening Wide, And Compass Lost.

The Kindest And The Happiest Pair Will Find Occasion To Forbear; And Something, Every Day They Live, To Pity, And Perhaps Forgive.

The Still Small Voice Is Wanted.

How Various His Employments Whom The World Calls Idle; And Who Justly In Return Esteems That Busy World An Idler Too!