If My Resolution To Be

Ceremony Leads Her Bigots Forth, Prepared To Fight For Shadows Of No Worth. While Truths, On Which Eternal Things Depend, Can Hardly Find A Single Friend.

There Is In Souls A Sympathy With Sounds: And As The Mind Is Pitch'd The Ear Is Pleased With Melting Airs, Or Martial, Brisk Or Grave; Some Chord In Unison With What We Hear Is Touch'd Within Us, And The Heart Replies.

We Sacrifice To Dress Till Household Joys And Comforts Cease. Dress Drains Our Cellar Dry, And Keeps Our Larder Lean.

He Is The Freeman Whom The Truth Makes Free, And All Are Slaves Besides.

Forced From Home, And All Its Pleasures, Afric Coast I Left Forlorn; To Increase A Stranger's Treasures, O The Raging Billows Borne. Men From England Bought And Sold Me, Paid My Price In Paltry Gold; But, Though Theirs They Have Enroll'd Me, Minds Are Never To Be Sold.