Maxioms by Thomas Campbell
The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began,
Dropt on the world--a sacred gift to man.
The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began,
Dropt on the world--a sacred gift to man.
Oh, leave this barren spot to me!
Spare, woodman, space the beechen tree!
Oh, leave this barren spot to me!
Spare, woodman, space the beechen tree!
To bear is to conquer our fate.
To bear is to conquer our fate.
Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky
When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud Philosophy
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Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky
When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud Philosophy
To teach me what thou art.
