When From Soft Love Proceeds

There Is A Mixture Of Evil In Everything We Do; Indulgence Encourages Us To Encroach, While We Crabbe Exercise The Rights Of Children, We Become Childish.

But Truths On Which Depends Our Main Concern, That 'tis Our Shame And Misery Not To Learn, Shine By The Side Of Every Path We Tread With Such A Lustre He That Runs May Read.

Great Contest Follows, And Much Learned Dust Involves The Combatants; Each Claiming Truth, And Truth Disclaiming Both.

A Fretful Temper Will Divide The Closest Knot That May Be Tied, By Ceaseless Sharp Corrosion; A Temper Passionate And Fierce May Suddenly Your Joys Disperse At One Immense Explosion.

The Still Small Voice Is Wanted.