Quotes
Quotes - Pope
Father of all! in every age,
In every clime adored,
By saint, by savage, and by sage,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord.
Thou great First Cause, least understood.
And binding Nature fast in fate,
Left free the human will.
And deal damnation round the land.
Teach me to feel another's woe,
To hide the fault I see;
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.
Happy the man whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound.
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.
Vital spark of heavenly flame!
Quit, O quit this mortal frame!
Hark! they whisper; angels say,
Sister spirit, come away!
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
O grave! where is thy victory?
O death! where is thy sting?
What beckoning ghost along the moonlight shade
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?
Is there no bright reversion in the sky
For those who greatly think, or bravely die?
The glorious fault of angels and of gods.
So perish all, whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow
For others' good, or melt at others' woe.
By foreign hands thy dying eyes were clos'd,
By foreign hands thy decent limbs compos'd,
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd,
By strangers honoured, and by strangers mourn'd!
And bear about the mockery of woe
To midnight dances and the public show.
How lov'd, how honour'd once avails thee not,
To whom related, or by whom begot;
A heap of dust alone remains of thee:
'T is all thou art, and all the proud shall be!
Such were the notes thy once lov'd poet sung,
Till death untimely stopp'd his tuneful tongue.
Who ne'er knew joy but friendship might divide,
Or gave his father grief but when he died.
The saint sustain'd it, but the woman died.
Of manners gentle, of affections mild;
In wit a man, simplicity a child.
A brave man struggling in the storms of fate,
And greatly falling with a falling state.
While Cato gives his little senate laws,
What bosom beats not in his country's cause?
The mouse that always trusts to one poor hole
Can never be a mouse of any soul.
Love seldom haunts the breast where learning lies,
And Venus sets ere Mercury can rise.
