To Be Poor, And To

Every Acknowledgment Of Gratitude Is A Circumstance Of Humiliation; And Some Are Found To Submit To Frequent Mortifications Of This Kind, Proclaiming What Obligations They Owe, Merely Because They Think It In Some Measure Cancels The Debt.

Silence Gives Consent.

Near Yonder Copse, Where Once The Garden Smil'd, And Still Where Many A Garden Flower Grows Wild, There, Where A Few Torn Shrubs The Place Disclose, The Village Preacher's Modest Mansion Rose. A Man He Was To All The Country Dear, And Passing Rich With Forty Pounds A Year; Remote From Town's He Ran His Godly Race, Nor E'er Had Chang'd Nor Wish'd To Change His Place; Unskilful He To Fawn, Or Seek For Power, By Doctrines Fashion'd To The Varying Hour; Far Other Aims His Heart Had Learn'd To Prize. More Bent To Raise The Wretched Than To Rise.

Ill Fares The Land, To Hastening Ills A Prey, Where Wealth Accumulates, And Men Decay. Princes And Lords May Flourish Or May Fade,- A Breath Can Make Them, As A Breath Has Made; But A Bold Peasantry, Their Country's Pride, When Once Destroy'd, Can Never Be Supplied.

Our Bounty, Like A Drop Of Water, Disappears, When Diffus'd Too Widely