And they are fools who roam.
The world has nothing to bestow;
From our own selves our joys must flow,
And that dear hut, our home.
The Fireside. Stanza 3.
To be resign'd when ills betide,
Patient when favours are deni'd,
And pleas'd with favours given,—
Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part;
This is that incense of the heart[362:1]