So Mayst Thou Live, Dear!

The Cowslip Is A Country Wench.

A Name, It Has More Than Nominal Worth, And Belongs To Good Or Bad Luck At Birth

Spontaneously To God Should Turn The Soul, Like The Magnetic Needle To The Pole; But What Were That Intrinsic Virtue Worth, Suppose Some Fellow, With More Zeal Than Knowledge, Fresh From St. Andrew's College, Should Nail The Conscious Needle To The North?

While The Steeples Are Loud In Their Joy, To The Tune Of The Bells' Ring-a-ding, Let Us Chime In A Peal, One And All, For We All Should Be Able To Sing Hullah Baloo.

For Man May Pious Texts Repeat, And Yet Religion Have No Inward Seat