Life Is A Journey That Must Be

Sweet Was The Sound, When Oft, At Evening's Close, Up Yonder Hill The Village Murmur Rose; There As I Passed, With Careless Steps And Slow, The Mingling Notes Came Soften'd From Below; The Swain Responsive As The Milkmaid Sung, The Sober Herd That Low'd To Meet Their Young; The Noisy Geese That Gabbled O'er The Pool, The Playful Children Just Let Loose From School; The Watch-dog's Voice That Bay'd The Whispering Wind, And The Loud Laugh That Spoke The Vacant Mind; These All In Sweet Confusion Sought The Shade, And Fill'd Each Pause The Nightingale Had Made.

Every Acknowledgment Of Gratitude Is A Circumstance Of Humiliation; And Some Are Found To Submit To Frequent Mortifications Of This Kind, Proclaiming What Obligations They Owe, Merely Because They Think It In Some Measure Cancels The Debt.

Fear Guides More Than Gratitude.

Even Children Follow'd With Endearing Wile, And Pluck'd His Gown, To Share The Good Man's Smile.

[t]here Are Depths Of Thousands Of Miles Which Are Hidden From Our Inquiry. The Only Tidings We Have From Those Unfathomable Regions Are By Means Of Volcanoes, Those Burning Mountains That Seem To Discharge Their Materials From The Lowest Abysses Of The Earth.