Aaron Hill

There's not a string attuned to mirth,
But has its chord in melancholy.

There's not a string attuned to mirth,
But has its chord in melancholy.

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.

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.

A man may cry, Church! Church! at ev'ry word,
With no pore piety than other people--
A read more

A man may cry, Church! Church! at ev'ry word,
With no pore piety than other people--
A daw's not reckoned a religious bird
Because it keeps a-cawing from a steeple.