By Every Remove I Only

To Husband Out Life's Taper At The Close, And Keep The Flames From Wasting By Repose.

When We Take A Slight Survey Of The Surface Of Our Globe A Thousand Objects Offer Themselves Which, Though Long Known, Yet Still Demand Our Curiosity.

Her Modest Looks The Cottage Might Adorn, Sweet As The Primrose Peeps Beneath The Thorn.

Blest Be That Spot, Where Cheerful Guests Retire To Pause From Toil, And Trim Their Evening Fire; Blest That Abode, Where Want And Pain Repair, And Every Stranger Finds A Ready Chair Blest Be Those Feasts With Simple Plenty Crown'd, Where All The Ruddy Family Around Laugh At The Jest Or Pranks, That Never Fail, Or Sigh With Pity At Some Mournful Tale, Or Press The Bashful Stranger To His Food, And Learn The Luxury Of Doing Good.

It World Be Well Had We More Misers Than We Have Among Us.