One Thought Of Thee Puts

Heav'n First Taught Letters For Some Wretch's Aid, Some Banish'd Lover, Or Some Captive Maid.

But Blind To Former As To Future Fate, What Mortal Knows His Pre-existent State?

Let Joy Or Ease, Let Affluence Or Content, And The Gay Conscience Of A Life Well Spent, Calm Ev'ry Thought, Inspirit Ev'ry Grace, Glow In Thy Heart, And Smile Upon Thy Face.

Where London's Column, Pointing At The Skies, Like A Tall Bully, Lifts The Head, And Lies.

Those Oft Are Stratagems Which Errors Seem Nor Is It Homer Nods, But We That Dream.