"Blind-Man's Buff"
Alas, how frail our best of hopes, how soon they fail!
Why cannot the Ear be closed to its own destruction?
Or the glistning Eye to the poison of a smile!
Can I see another’s woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another’s grief,
And not seek for kind relief?
"The Clod & the Pebble"
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its case,
And builds a Heaven in Hells’s despair.
So sang a little Clod of Clay
Trodden with the cattle’s feet,
But a Pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:
To bind another to Its delight,
Joys in another’s loss of ease,
And builds a Hell in Heaven’s despite.
And is made up of contradiction.
Eternity is in love with the productions of time.
As the air to a bird or the sea to a fish, so is contempt to the contemptible.
For man has closed himself up, till he sees all thing thro’ narrow chinks of his cavern.
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