And rich with wrecks, the ruin of mankind,
My life an honest, humble praise shall claim,
As the small stream, scarce honoured with a name,
Whose gladdening waters through my garden play,
Give a few flowers to smile, then glide away.
Bishop Hurd.
The wisest, happiest, of our kind are they
That ever walk content with Nature’s way,
God’s goodness measuring bounty as it may;
For whom the gravest thought of what they miss,