Thomas Gray

And read their history in a nation's eyes.

And read their history in a nation's eyes.

When iron scourge, and tort'ring hour
The bad affright, afflict the best.

When iron scourge, and tort'ring hour
The bad affright, afflict the best.

To each his suff'rings; all are men,
Condemn'd alike to groan;
The tender for another's pain,
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To each his suff'rings; all are men,
Condemn'd alike to groan;
The tender for another's pain,
Th' unfeeling for his own.
Yet ah! why should they know their fate,
Since sorrow never comes too late,
And happiness too swiftly flies?
Thought would destroy their paradise.

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield:
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke:
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Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield:
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke:
How jocund did they drive their team a-field!
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!