Abraham Cowley

Of all ills that one endures, hope is a cheap and universal cure.

Of all ills that one endures, hope is a cheap and universal cure.

Happy insect! what can be
In happiness compared to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
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Happy insect! what can be
In happiness compared to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy morning's gentle wine!
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy verdant cup does fill;
'Tis fill'd wherever thou dost tread,
Nature's self's thy Ganymede.

Hope! of all ills that men endure,
The only cheap and universal cure.

Hope! of all ills that men endure,
The only cheap and universal cure.

Nature's self's thy Ganymede.

Nature's self's thy Ganymede.

For the whole world, without a native home,
Is nothing but a prison of larger room.

For the whole world, without a native home,
Is nothing but a prison of larger room.