Full Many A Gem Of Purest Ray

And Hie Him Home, At Evening's Close, To Sweet Repast And Calm Repose.

No Further 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.

The Attic Warbler Pours Her Throat, Responsive To The Cuckoo's Note, The Untaught Harmony Of Spring.

Rich With The Spoils Of Time.

If The Best Man's Faults Were Written On His Forehead, He Would Draw His Hat Over His Eyes.