William Cowper

He found it inconvenient to be poor.

Remorse, the fatal egg by pleasure laid.

Could he with reason murmur at his case, Himself sole author of his own disgrace?

The kindest and the happiest pair Will find occasion to forbear; And something, every day they live, To pity, and perhaps forgive.

Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons to love it, too.

Absence of occupation is not rest, A mind quite vacant is a mind distress'd.

Feels himself spent and fumbles for his brains.

In indolent vacuity of thought.

Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unseen, a kiss; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss.

There is in souls a sympathy with sounds; And as the mind is pitch'd, the ear is pleased With melting airs or martial, brisk, or grave; Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies.