Perhaps Thou Gav'st Me, Though

Words Learn'd By Rote A Parrot May Rehearse, But Talking Is Not Always To Converse, Not More Distinct From Harmony Divine The Constant Creaking Of A Country Sign.

It Chills My Blood To Hear The Blest Supreme Rudely Appealed To On Each Trifling Theme.

The Path Of Sorrow, And That Path Alone, Leads To The Land Where Sorrow Is Unknown.

Happy The Man Who Sees A God Employed In All The Good And Ills That Checker Life.

England With All Thy Faults, I Love Thee Still-- My Country! And, While Yet A Nook Is Left Where English Minds And Manners May Be Found, Shall Be Constrained To Love Thee.