The Dogs Did Bark, The

The Few That Pray At All Pray Oft Amiss.

Call'd To The Temple Of Impure Delight He That Abstains, And He Alone, Does Right. If A Wish Wander That Way, Call It Home; He Cannot Long Be Safe Whose Wishes Roam.

The Art Of Poetry Is To Touch The Passions, And Its Duty To Lead Them On The Side Of Virtue.

To See The Law By Christ Fulfilled, And Hear His Pardoning Voice Changes A Slave Into A Child, And Duty Into Choice.

Man In Society Is Like A Flow'r, Blown In Its Native Bed. 'tis There Alone His Faculties Expanded In Full Bloom Shine Out, There Only Reach Their Proper Use.