Society and the World

I waive the quantum o’ the sin, The hazard of concealing: But, och! it hardens a’ within, And petrifies the feeling!

An atheist-laugh’s a poor exchange For Deity offended.

An’ there began a lang digression About the lords o’ the creation.

On ev’ry hand it will allow’d be, He’s just—nae better than he should be.

Gie me ae spark o’ Nature’s fire, That’s a’ the learning I desire.

The social, friendly, honest man, Whate’er he be, ’Tis he fulfills great Nature’s plan, And none but he!

From scenes like these, old Scotia’s grandeur springs, That makes her loved at home, revered abroad: Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, “An honest man’s the noblest work of God.”

From scenes like these, old Scotia’s grandeur springs, That makes her loved at home, revered abroad: Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, “An honest man’s the noblest work of God.”

He wales a portion with judicious care; And “Let us worship God” he says, with solemn air.

Man’s inhumanity to man. Makes countless thousands mourn!

I’m truly sorry man’s dominion Has broken Nature’s social union.

I am sure this Jesus will not do Either for Englishman or Jew.

England! awake! awake! awake! Jerusalem thy sister calls! Why wilt thou sleep the sleep of death And close her from thy ancient walls?

He who would do good to another must do it in minute particulars; General good is the plea of the scoundrel, hypocrite, and flatterer: For art and science cannot exist but in minutely organized particulars.

He who would do good to another must do it in minute particulars; General good is the plea of the scoundrel, hypocrite, and flatterer: For art and science cannot exist but in minutely organized particulars.

The harlot’s cry from street to street Shall weave old England’s winding sheet.

The harlot’s cry from street to street Shall weave old England’s winding sheet.

The strongest poison ever known Came from Caesar’s laurel crown.

He who shall teach the child to doubt The rotting grave shall ne’er get out.

A truth that’s told with bad intent Beats all the lies you can invent.

He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be belov’d by men.

A dog starv’d at his master’s gate Predicts the ruin of the state.

There is a smile of love, And there is a smile of deceit, And there is a smile of smiles In which these two smiles meet.

Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau. Mock on, mock on—’tis all in vain! You throw the sand against the wind, And the wind blows it back again.