Aaron Hill

Tender handed stroke a nettle,
And it stings you for your pains;
Grasp it like a man read more

Tender handed stroke a nettle,
And it stings you for your pains;
Grasp it like a man of mettle,
And it soft as silk remains.

But, oh! the love that gold must crown!

But, oh! the love that gold must crown!

The mind flies back with a grand recoil
From debts not due till to-morrow.

The mind flies back with a grand recoil
From debts not due till to-morrow.

When Christ at Cana's feast by pow'r divine,
Inspir'd cold water, with the warmth of wine,
See! read more

When Christ at Cana's feast by pow'r divine,
Inspir'd cold water, with the warmth of wine,
See! cry'd they while, in red'ning tide, it gush'd,
The bashful stream hath seen its God and blush'd.

For man may pious texts repeat,
And yet religion have no inward seat.

For man may pious texts repeat,
And yet religion have no inward seat.