Be Thou The First True

Interspersed In Lawn And Opening Glades, Thin Trees Arise That Shun Each Others' Shades.

False Happiness Is Like False Money; It Passes For A Time As Well As The True, And Serves Some Ordinary Occasions; But When It Is Brought To The Touch, We Find The Lightness And Alloy, And Feel The Loss.

But See, The Shepherds Shun The Noonday Heat, The Lowing Herds To Murmuring Brooks Retreat, To Closer Shades The Panting Flocks Remove; Ye Gods! And Is There No Relief For Love?

Superstition Is The Spleen Of The Soul.

A Brain Of Feathers, And A Heart Of Lead.