Jarring Interests Of Themselves Create

To What Base Ends, And By What Abject Ways, Are Mortals Urg'd Through Sacred Lust Of Praise!

Seas Roll To Waft Me, Suns To Light Me Rise; My Footstool Earth, My Canopy The Skies.

A Mighty Maze! But Not Without A Plan.

Hope Springs Eternal In The Human Breast: Man Never Is, But Always To Be Blest.

Where Beams Of Imagination Play, The Memory's Soft Figures Melt Away.