The Bounds Of A Man's Knowledge Are

O Luxury! Thou Curst By Heaven's Decree!

Sweet Auburn, Loveliest Village Of The Plain.

Fortune Is Ever Seen Accompanying Industry.

Well Had The Boding Tremblers Learned To Trace The Day's Disasters In His Morning Face.

Near Yonder Copse, Where Once The Garden Smil'd, And Still Where Many A Garden Flower Grows Wild, There, Where A Few Torn Shrubs The Place Disclose, The Village Preacher's Modest Mansion Rose. A Man He Was To All The Country Dear, And Passing Rich With Forty Pounds A Year; Remote From Town's He Ran His Godly Race, Nor E'er Had Chang'd Nor Wish'd To Change His Place; Unskilful He To Fawn, Or Seek For Power, By Doctrines Fashion'd To The Varying Hour; Far Other Aims His Heart Had Learn'd To Prize. More Bent To Raise The Wretched Than To Rise.