And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. - Thomas Gray

From toil he wins his spirits light, From busy day the peaceful night; Rich, from the very want of wealth, In heaven's best treasures, peace and health.

Her track, where'er the goddess roves, Glory pursue, and gen'rous shame, Th' unconquerable mind, 3 and freedom's holy flame.

To each his suff'rings: all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan, The tender for another's pain; Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet ah! why should they know their fate? Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies. Thought would destroy their paradise. No more; where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.