William Watson 1

The rills of pleasure never run sincere,
(Earth has no unpolluted spring)
From the cursed soil some read more

The rills of pleasure never run sincere,
(Earth has no unpolluted spring)
From the cursed soil some dang'rous taint they bear;
So roses grow on thorns, and honey wears a sting.

Let justice be done, though the heavens fall.
[Lat., Fiat justitia, ruat coelum.]

Let justice be done, though the heavens fall.
[Lat., Fiat justitia, ruat coelum.]

Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.

Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.

Oh Ignorance
Thou art fall'n man's best friend!

Oh Ignorance
Thou art fall'n man's best friend!

And sanguine hope through every storm of life,
Shoots her bright beams, and calms the internal strife.

And sanguine hope through every storm of life,
Shoots her bright beams, and calms the internal strife.