Alexander Pope

See the wild Waste of all-devouring years!
How Rome her own sad Sepulchre appears,
With nodding arches, read more

See the wild Waste of all-devouring years!
How Rome her own sad Sepulchre appears,
With nodding arches, broken temples spread!
The very Tombs now vanish'd like their dead!

To wake the soul by tender strokes of art,
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart;
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To wake the soul by tender strokes of art,
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart;
To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold,
Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold--
For this the tragic Muse first trod the stage.

Who builds a church to God, and not to Fame,
Will never mark the marble with his Name.

Who builds a church to God, and not to Fame,
Will never mark the marble with his Name.

Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land?
All fear, none aid you, and few understand.

Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land?
All fear, none aid you, and few understand.

But see, Orion sheds unwholesome dews;
Arise, the pines a noxious shade diffuse;
Sharp Boreas blows, and read more

But see, Orion sheds unwholesome dews;
Arise, the pines a noxious shade diffuse;
Sharp Boreas blows, and nature feels decay,
Time conquers all, and we must time obey.