Our rural ancestors, with little blest, Patient of labor when the end was rest, Indulged the day that housed their annual grain, With feasts, and off'rings, and a thankful strain.
Our rural ancestors, with ...
Quotes from the same author
Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.
Never find fault with the absent.
Blessed is the man who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed.
By music minds an equal temper know, Nor swell too high, nor sink too low. . . . . Warriors she fires with animated sounds. Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds.
Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds.
