Maxioms by James Beattie
At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
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At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove.
How sweet the words of Truth, breath'd from the lips of Love.
How sweet the words of Truth, breath'd from the lips of Love.
On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending,
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.
On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending,
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.
And none speaks false, when there in none to hear.
And none speaks false, when there in none to hear.
