Alexander Pope

In pride, in reas'ning pride, our error lies;
All quit their sphere and rush into the skies.
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In pride, in reas'ning pride, our error lies;
All quit their sphere and rush into the skies.
Pride still is aiming at the bless'd abodes,
Men would be angels, angels would be gods.

Good sense which only is the gift of Heaven,
And though no science, fairly worth the seven.

Good sense which only is the gift of Heaven,
And though no science, fairly worth the seven.

Our rural ancestors with little blest,
Patient of labour when the end was rest,
Indulg'd the day read more

Our rural ancestors with little blest,
Patient of labour when the end was rest,
Indulg'd the day that hous'd their annual grain,
With feasts, and off'rings, and a thankful strain.

Where'er you walk cool gales shall fan the glade,
Trees where you sit shall crowd into a shade.
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Where'er you walk cool gales shall fan the glade,
Trees where you sit shall crowd into a shade.
Where'er you tread the blushing flowers shall rise,
And all things flourish where you turn your eyes.

Line after line my gushing eye o'erflow,
Led thro' a said variety of woe:
Now warm in read more

Line after line my gushing eye o'erflow,
Led thro' a said variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now with'ring in my bloom,
Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!