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To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells
Ring Sabbath knells;
The sod's a cushion for his pious read more
To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells
Ring Sabbath knells;
The sod's a cushion for his pious want,
And, consecrated by the heaven within it,
The sky-blue pool a font.
He that hath no ill fortune is troubled with good.
He that hath no ill fortune is troubled with good.
Nothing lasts but the Church.
Nothing lasts but the Church.
Those, who in quarrels interpose,
Must often wipe a bloody nose.
Those, who in quarrels interpose,
Must often wipe a bloody nose.
We are deceived by the semblance of what is just.
We are deceived by the semblance of what is just.
Who backs his rigid Sabbath, so to speak,
Against the wicked remnant of the week."
Who backs his rigid Sabbath, so to speak,
Against the wicked remnant of the week."
Great strokes make not sweete musick.
Great strokes make not sweete musick.
Crime oft recoils upon the author's head.
Crime oft recoils upon the author's head.
