What Conscience Dictates To Be

To Swear Is Neither Brave, Polite, Nor Wise.

All Nature's Diff'rence Keeps All Nature's Peace.

Men, Some To Business, Some To Pleasure Take; But Every Woman Is At Heart A Rake.

Hope Springs Eternal In The Human Breast; Man Never Is, But Always To Be Blest. The Soul, Uneasy, And Confin'd From Home, Rest And Expatiates In A Life To Come. Lo, The Poor Indian! Whose Untutor'd Mind Sees God In Clouds, Or Hears Him In The Wind; His Soul Proud Science Never Taught To Stray Far As The Solar Walk Or Milky Way; Yet Simple Nature To His Hope Has Giv'n, Behind The Cloud-topp'd Hill, An Humbler Heav'n.

The Lights And Shades, Whose Well-accorded Strife Gives All The Strength And Color Of Our Life.