Maxioms by Thomas Gray
The still small voice of gratitude.
The still small voice of gratitude.
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!
Ye unborn ages, crown not on my soul.
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!
Ye unborn ages, crown not on my soul.
They hear a voice in every wind,
And snatch a fearful joy.
They hear a voice in every wind,
And snatch a fearful joy.
. . where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.
. . where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
The read more
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
