Those Who Would Make Us

No Tribute Is Laid On Castles In The Air.

Those Who Would Make Us Feel Must Feel Themselves.

All Hunt For Fame, But Most Mistake The Way.

If Honor Calls, Where'er She Points The Way The Sons Of Honor Follow, And Obey.

The Villager, Born Humbly And Bred Hard, Content His Wealth, And Poverty His Guard, In Action Simply Just, In Conscience Clear, By Guilt Untainted, Undisturb'd By Fear, His Means But Scanty, And His Wants But Few, Labor His Business, And His Pleasure Too, Enjoys More Comforts In A Single Hour Than Ages Give The Wretch Condemn'd To Power.