As For Murmurs, Mother, We

Life At The Greatest And Best Is But A Froward Child, That Must Be Humored And Coaxed A Little Till It Falls Asleep, And Then All The Care Is Over.

If The Soul Be Happily Disposed, Every Thing Becomes Capable Of Affording Entertainment, And Distress Will Almost Want A Name.

A Kind And Gentle Heart He Had, To Comfort Friends And Foes; The Naked Every Day He Clad When He Put On His Clothes.

Pride In Their Port, Defiance In Their Eye, I See The Lords Of Humankind Pass By.

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.