Fairest and foremost of the train… On man’s most dignified and happie… Whether we name thee Charity or L… Chief grace below, and all in all… Prosper (I press thee with a powe…

Mary! I want a lyre with other st… Such aid from heaven as some have… An eloquence scarce given to morta… And undebased by praise of meaner… That ere through age or woe I she…

Oh happy shades—to me unblest! Friendly to peace, but not to me! How ill the scene that offers rest… And heart that cannot rest, agree! This glassy stream, that spreading…

Here Johnson lies, a sage by all… Whom to have bred, may well make… Whose prose was eloquence, by wisd… The graceful vehicle of virtuous t… Whose verse may claim, grave, masc…

Dear Lord! accept a sinful heart, Which of itself complains, And mourns, with much and frequent… The evil it contains. There fiery seeds of anger lurk,

The new-born child of gospel grace… Like some fair tree when summer’s… Beneath Emmanuel’s shining face Lifts up his blooming branch on hi… No fears he feels, he sees no foes…

Lady! It cannot be, but that thin… Must be my sun, such radiance they… And strike me ev’n as Phoebus him… Through torrid Libya’s sandy dese… Meantime, on that side steamy vapo…

On the Burning of Lord Mansfield… So then - the Vandals of our isle… Sworn foes to sense and law, Have burnt to dust a nobler pile Than ever Roman saw!

What thousands never knew the road… What thousands hate it when ’tis k… None but the chosen tribes of God Will seek or choose it for their o… A thousand ways in ruin end,

Hope, like the short-lived ray tha… Through wintry skies, upon the fro… Cheers e’en the face of misery to… But soon the momentary pleasure’s… How oft, my Delia, since our last…

Believe it or not, as you choose, The doctrine is certainly true, That the future is known to the M… And poets are oracles too. I did but express a desire,

Reader! behold a monument That asks no sigh or tear, Though it perpetuate the event Of a great burial here.

I was of late a barren plant, Useless, insignificant, Nor fig, nor grape, nor apple bore… A native of the marshy shore; But, gather’d for poetic use,

There’s not an echo round me, But I am glad should learn, How pure a fire has found me, The love with which I burn. For none attends with pleasure

When all within is peace, How nature seems to smile; Delights that never cease, The live-long day beguile. From morn to dewy eve,