Maxioms by Lord Alfred Tennyson
Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel, and lower the proud.
Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel, and lower the proud.
This is truth the poet sings,
That a sorrow's crown of sorrows is remembering happier things.
This is truth the poet sings,
That a sorrow's crown of sorrows is remembering happier things.
Like Hezekiah's, backward runs
The shadow of my days.
Like Hezekiah's, backward runs
The shadow of my days.
Ah! well away!
Seasons flower and fade.
Ah! well away!
Seasons flower and fade.
Our wills are ours, we know not how;
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.
Our wills are ours, we know not how;
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.
