Above the fogs of sense, and passion’s storm;
All the black cares, and tumults, of this life,
Like harmless thunders, breaking at his feet,
Excite his pity, not impair his peace.
Earth’s genuine sons, the sceptred, and the slave,
A mingled mob! a wandering herd! he sees, 1090
Bewilder’d in the vale; in all unlike!
His full reverse in all! What higher praise?
What stronger demonstration of the right?
The present all their care; the future, his.