Maxioms by William Watson 1
The rills of pleasure never run sincere,
(Earth has no unpolluted spring)
From the cursed soil some read more
The rills of pleasure never run sincere,
(Earth has no unpolluted spring)
From the cursed soil some dang'rous taint they bear;
So roses grow on thorns, and honey wears a sting.
Mix with your grave designs a little pleasure;
Each day of business has its hour of leisure.
Mix with your grave designs a little pleasure;
Each day of business has its hour of leisure.
And sanguine hope through every storm of life,
Shoots her bright beams, and calms the internal strife.
And sanguine hope through every storm of life,
Shoots her bright beams, and calms the internal strife.
Oh Ignorance
Thou art fall'n man's best friend!
Oh Ignorance
Thou art fall'n man's best friend!
Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.
Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.
