No One Is More Cherished

I Have Always Preferred Cheerfulness To Mirth. The Latter I Consider As An Act, The Former As A Habit Of Mind. Mirth Is Short And Transient, Cheerfulness Fixed And Permanent.

Thus I Live In The World Rather As A Spectator Of Mankind Than As One Of The Species.

For Ever Singing As They Shine, The Hand That Made Us Is Divine.

Who Rant By Note, And Through The Gamut Rage; In Songs And Airs Express Their Martial Fire; Combat In Trills, And In A Fugue Expire.

Tis Not My Talent To Conceal My Thoughts, Or Carry Smiles And Sunshine In My Face, When Discontent Sits Heavy At My Heart.