Maxioms by Thomas Gray
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Chill penury repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
Chill penury repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
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The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.
Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.
