No Silver Saints, By Dying Misers Giv'n,

The Proper Study Of Mankind Is Man.

Chaos Of Thought And Passion, All Confused; Still By Himself Abused Or Disabused; Created Half To Rise, And Half To Fall; Great Lord Of All Things, Yet A Prey To All; Sole Judge Of Truth, In Endless Error Hurled,- The Glory, Jest, And Riddle Of The World.

To Teach Vain Wits That Science Little Known, T' Admire Superior Sense, And Doubt Their Own!

Where'er You Walk Cool Gales Shall Fan The Glade, Trees Where You Sit Shall Crowd Into A Shade. Where'er You Tread The Blushing Flowers Shall Rise, And All Things Flourish Where You Turn Your Eyes.

Of Darkness Visible So Much Be Lent, As Half To Show, Half Veil, The Deep Intent.