The Watch-dog's Voice That Bay'd The Whispering

How Blest Is He Who Crowns In Shades Like These A Youth Of Labour With An Age Of Ease!

The Dog, To Gain Some Private Ends, Went Mad, And Bit The Man.

If We Do Not Find Happiness In The Present Moment, In What Shall We Find It?

Ill Fares The Land, To Hastening Ills A Prey, Where Wealth Accumulates, And Men Decay. Princes And Lords May Flourish Or May Fade,- A Breath Can Make Them, As A Breath Has Made; But A Bold Peasantry, Their Country's Pride, When Once Destroy'd, Can Never Be Supplied.

Blest Be Those Feasts, With Simple Plenty Crowned, Where All The Ruddy Family Around Laugh At The Jests Or Pranks That Never Fail Or Sigh With Pity At Some Mournful Tale.