Maxioms by William Cowper
He is the freeman whom the truth makes free,
And all are slaves besides.
He is the freeman whom the truth makes free,
And all are slaves besides.
I would not have a slave to till my ground,
To carry me, to fan me while I sleep,
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I would not have a slave to till my ground,
To carry me, to fan me while I sleep,
And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth
That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd.
I pity bashful men, who feel the pain
Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain,
And bear the read more
I pity bashful men, who feel the pain
Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain,
And bear the marks upon a blushing face,
OF needless shame, and self-impos'd disgrace.
And the tear that is wiped with a little address,
May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.
And the tear that is wiped with a little address,
May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.
Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees,
Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze.
Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees,
Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze.
