Hard Are The Ways Of Truth, And

Thus I Set My Printless Feet O'er The Cowslip's Velvet Head, That Bends Not As I Tread.

What Can 'scape The Eye Of God, All-seeing, Or Deceive His Heart. Omniscient!

It Was The Winter Wild, While The Heaven-born Child, All Meanly Wrapt In The Rude Manger Lies.

If At Great Things Thou Would'st Arrive, Get Riches First, Get Wealth, And Treasure Heap, Not Difficult, If Thou Hearken To Me; Riches Are Mine, Fortune Is In My Hand, They Whom I Favor Thrive In Wealth Amain, While Virtue, Valor, Wisdom, Sit In Want.

Who, As They Sung, Would Take The Prison'd Soul And Lap It In Elysium.