If Faith Itself Has Different

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.

Placed On This Isthmus Of A Middle State, A Being Darkly Wise And Rudely Great... He Hangs Between; In Doubt To Act Or Rest; In Doubt To Deem Himself A God, Or Beast; In Doubt His Mind Or Body To Prefer; Born To Die, And Reasoning But To Err.

Whate'er The Passion, Knowledge, Fame, Or Pelf, Not One Will Change His Neighbor With Himself.

True Wit Is Nature To Advantage Dressed; What Oft Was Thought, But Ne'er So Well Expressed.

'tis Not A Lip, Or Eye, We Beauty Call, But The Joint Force And Full Result Of All.