Thomas Gray

No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode
(There they read more

No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode
(There they alike in trembling hope repose),
The bosom of his Father and his God.

Since sorrow never comes too late
And happiness too swiftly flies.

Since sorrow never comes too late
And happiness too swiftly flies.

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.

Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.

Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.

Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind.

Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind.