Maxioms by Aaron Hill
To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells
Ring Sabbath knells;
The sod's a cushion for his pious read more
To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells
Ring Sabbath knells;
The sod's a cushion for his pious want,
And, consecrated by the heaven within it,
The sky-blue pool a font.
The mind flies back with a grand recoil
From debts not due till to-morrow.
The mind flies back with a grand recoil
From debts not due till to-morrow.
Letters, from absent friends, extinguish fear,
Unite division, and draw distance near;
Their magic force each silent read more
Letters, from absent friends, extinguish fear,
Unite division, and draw distance near;
Their magic force each silent wish conveys,
And wafts embodied though, a thousand ways:
Could souls to bodies write, death's pow'r were mean,
For minds could then meet minds with heav'n between.
For man may pious texts repeat,
And yet religion have no inward seat.
For man may pious texts repeat,
And yet religion have no inward seat.
But, oh! the love that gold must crown!
But, oh! the love that gold must crown!