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The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies, To him are open paradise.

Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompense as largely send; He gave to misery a tear, He gain'd from Heaven a friend.

As to posterity, I may ask what has it ever done to oblige me?

Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife.

When iron scourge, and tort'ring hour The bad affright, afflict the best.

Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind.

While bright-eyed science watches round.

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife.

Since sorrow never comes too late And happiness too swiftly flies.

To each his suff'rings; all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan; The tender for another's pain, Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet ah! why should they know their fate, Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies? Thought would destroy their paradise.

In climes beyond the solar road.

The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sunshine of the breast.

Ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.

And weep the more, because I weep in vain.

Hard Unkindness' alter'd eye, That mocks the tear if forced to flow.

Hard Unkindness' alter'd eye, That mocks the tear if forced to flow.

Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! Ye unborn ages, crown not on my soul.

And to hie him home, at evening's close, To sweet repast, and calm repose. . . . . From toil we wins his spirits light, From busy day the peaceful night; Rich, from the very want of wealth, In heaven's best treasures, peace and health.