When Nations Are To Perish

England, With All Thy Faults I Love Thee Still, My Country!

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.

Defend Me, Therefore, Common Sense, Say From Reveries So Airy, From The Toil Of Dropping Buckets Into Empty Wells, And Growing Old In Drawing Nothing Up.

The Things That Mount The Rostrum With A Skip, And Then Skip Down Again, Pronounce A Text, Cry Hem; And Reading What They Never Wrote Just Fifteen Minutes, Huddle Up Their Work, And With A Well-bred Whisper Close The Scene!

God Never Meant That Man Should Scale The Heavens By Strides Of Human Wisdom. In His Works, Though Wondrous, He Commands Us In His Word To Seek Him Rather Where His Mercy Shines.