Reason gains all men, by compelling none. Mercy was always Heaven's distinguished mark: And he, who bears it not, has no friend there. - Aaron Hill

O'er Nature's laws, God cast the veil of night, Out blaz'd a Newton's soul — and all was light.

Can my fond heart, on such a feeble proof, Embrace a faith, abhorred by him I love? I see too plainly custom forms us all; Our thoughts, our morals, our most fixed belief, Are consequences of our place of birth: Born beyond Ganges, I had been a Pagan; In France, a Christian; I am here a Saracen: 'Tis but instruction, all! Our parents' hand Writes on our heart the first faint characters, Which time, re-tracing, deepens into strength, That nothing can efface, but death or Heaven.

Yours is the guilt of all, who, judging wrong,
Mistake tuned nonsense for the poet's song!
Provoking dulness!—what a soul has he
Who fancies rhyme, and measure, poetry!—
He thinks, profanely, that this generous art
Stops at the ear—with power to shake the heart.