James Beattie

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.

Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb
The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar!

Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb
The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar!

Let those deplore their doom,
Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn:
But lofty souls, who read more

Let those deplore their doom,
Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn:
But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb,
Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn.

Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale,
And sing enamour'd of the nut-brown maid.

Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale,
And sing enamour'd of the nut-brown maid.

And from the prayer of Want, and plaint of Woe,
O never, never turn away their ear!
read more

And from the prayer of Want, and plaint of Woe,
O never, never turn away their ear!
Forlorn, in this bleak wilderness below,
Ah! what were man, should Heaven refuse to hear!