Thomas Moore

Humility, that low, sweet root,
From which all heavenly virtues shoot.

Humility, that low, sweet root,
From which all heavenly virtues shoot.

Yes,--rather plunge me back in pagan night,
And take my chance with Socrates for bliss,
Than be read more

Yes,--rather plunge me back in pagan night,
And take my chance with Socrates for bliss,
Than be the Christian of a faith like this,
Which builds on heavenly cant its earthly sway,
And in a convert mourns to lose a prey.

There written all
Black as the damning drops that fall
From the denouncing Angel's pen,
read more

There written all
Black as the damning drops that fall
From the denouncing Angel's pen,
Ere Mercy weeps them out again.

Dear creature!--you'd swear
When her delicate feet in the dance twinkle round,
That her steps are of read more

Dear creature!--you'd swear
When her delicate feet in the dance twinkle round,
That her steps are of light, that her home is the air,
And she only par complaisance touches the ground.

Then should some cloud pass over
The brow of sire or lover,
Think 'tis the shade
read more

Then should some cloud pass over
The brow of sire or lover,
Think 'tis the shade
By Victory made
Whose wings right o'er us hover!