Society and the World

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.”

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.

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

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

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.

Pity would be no more, If we did not make somebody poor; And Mercy no more could be, If all were as happy as we.

Pity would be no more, If we did not make somebody poor; And Mercy no more could be, If all were as happy as we.

In every cry of every man, In every infant’s cry of fear, In every voice, in every ban, The mind-forg’d manacles I hear.

But most through midnight streets I hear How the youthful harlot’s curse Blasts the newborn infant’s tear And blights with plagues the marriage hearse.

But most through midnight streets I hear How the youthful harlot’s curse Blasts the newborn infant’s tear And blights with plagues the marriage hearse.

Love seeketh only self to please, To bind another to its delight, Joys in another’s loss of ease, And builds a Hell in Heaven’s despite.

Love seeketh not itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care, But for another gives its ease, And builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair.