“Heav'n from all creatures hides the book of Fate, All but the page prescrib'd, their present state; From brutes what men, from men what spirits know: Or who could suffer Being here below? The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, Had he thy Reason, would he skip and play? Pleas'd to the last, he crops the flow'ry food, And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood. Oh blindness to the future! kindly giv'n, That each may fill the circle mark'd by Heav'n; Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perish, or a sparrow fall.”

“Know thy own point: this kind, this due degreeOf blindness, weakness, Heav'n bestows on thee.”

“The Dying Christian to His Soul (1712)-Vital spark of heav'nly flame!Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame:Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying,Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!Stanza 1.”

“Oh! if to dance all night, and dress all day,Charm'd the small-pox, or chased old age away;Who would not scorn what housewife's cares produce,Or who would learn one earthly thing of use?”

“Nor public flame, nor private, dares to shine;Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine!Lo! thy dread empire, Chaos! is restored;Light dies before thy uncreating word:Thy hand, great Anarch! lets the curtain fall;And universal darkness buries all.”

“Next o'er his books his eyes began to roll,In pleasing memory of all he stole.”

“No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole;Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll!Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me,Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee. Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign; Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine. Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view!) Long lov'd, ador'd ideas, all adieu!”