Thomas Gray

And to hie him home, at evening's close,
To sweet repast, and calm repose.
. . . read more

And to hie him home, at evening's close,
To sweet repast, and calm repose.
. . . .
From toil we wins his spirits light,
From busy day the peaceful night;
Rich, from the very want of wealth,
In heaven's best treasures, peace and health.

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.

Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
And heedless hearts is lawful prize,
Not all that glisters read more

Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
And heedless hearts is lawful prize,
Not all that glisters gold.

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.