Maxioms by Robert Pollok
Friend, for your epitaph I'm grieved,
Where still so much is said;
One half will never be read more
Friend, for your epitaph I'm grieved,
Where still so much is said;
One half will never be believed,
The other never read.
He sat among his bags, and, with a look
Which hell might be ashamed of, drove the poor
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He sat among his bags, and, with a look
Which hell might be ashamed of, drove the poor
Away unalmed; and midst abundance died--
Sorest of evils!--died of utter want.
Mercy stood in the cloud, with eye that wept
Essential love.
Mercy stood in the cloud, with eye that wept
Essential love.
Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.
Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.
A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.
A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.
