The People's Voice Is Odd,

As Some To Church Repair, Not For The Doctrine, But The Music There. These Equal Syllables Alone Require, Though Oft The Ear The Open Vowels Tire While Expletives Their Feeble Aid Do Join, And Ten Low Words Oft Creep In One Dull Line.

Blessed Is The Man Who Expects Nothing, For He Shall Never Be Disappointed Was The Ninth Beatitude.

But Those Who Cannot Write, And Those Who Can, All Rhyme, And Scrawl, And Scribble, To A Man.

Fear Not The Anger Of The Wise To Raise; Those Best Can Bear Reproof Who Merit Praise.

Leave Not A Foot Of Verse, A Foot Of Stone, A Page, A Grave, That They Can Call Their Own; But Spread, My Sons, Your Glory Thin Or Thick, On Passive Paper, Or On Solid Brick.