Alexander Pope

Oh, sons of earth! attempt ye still to rise.
By mountains pil'd on mountains to the skies?
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Oh, sons of earth! attempt ye still to rise.
By mountains pil'd on mountains to the skies?
Heav'n still with laughter the vain toil surveys,
And buries madmen in the heaps they raise.

One solid dish his week-day meal affords,
An added pudding solemniz'd the Lord's.

One solid dish his week-day meal affords,
An added pudding solemniz'd the Lord's.

To wake the soul by tender strokes of art,
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart;
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To wake the soul by tender strokes of art,
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart;
To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold,
Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold--
For this the tragic Muse first trod the stage.

As man, perhaps, the moment of his breath,
Receives the lurking principle of death,
The younger disease, read more

As man, perhaps, the moment of his breath,
Receives the lurking principle of death,
The younger disease, that must subdue at length,
Grows with his growth, and strengthens with his strength.

Blessed is he who expects nothing for he shall never be disappointed.

Blessed is he who expects nothing for he shall never be disappointed.