Maxioms by Thomas Gray
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!
Ye unborn ages, crown not on my soul.
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!
Ye unborn ages, crown not on my soul.
A favorite has no friend!
A favorite has no friend!
Since sorrow never comes too late
And happiness too swiftly flies.
Since sorrow never comes too late
And happiness too swiftly flies.
Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.
Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
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The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await alike th' inevitable hour,
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
