So Vast Is Art, So Narrow Human

The Blest To-day Is As Completely So, As Who Began A Thousand Years Ago.

Nay, Fly To Altars; There They'll Talk You Dead; For Fools Rush In Where Angels Fear To Tread.

Authors, Like Coins, Grow Dear As They Grow Old.

Unthought-of Frailties Cheat Us In The Wise.

What Conscience Dictates To Be Done, Or Warns Me Not To Do; This Teach Me More Than Hell To Shun, That More Than Heav'n Pursue.