Of this fair volume which we World do name If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care, Of Him who it corrects and did it frame, We clear might read the art and wisdom rare: Find out His power which wildest powers doth tame, His providence extending everywhere, His justice which proud rebels doth not spare, In every page, no period of the same. But silly we, like foolish children, rest Well pleased with coloured vellum, leaves of gold, Fair dangling ribbands, leaving what is best, On the great Writer's sense ne'er taking hold; Or, if by chance we stay our minds on aught, It is some picture on the margin wrought. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FRAILTY AND HURTFULNESS OF BEAUTY by HENRY HOWARD THE OLD BRIDGE by AUGUSTE ANGELLIER DRAB BONNETS by BERNARD BARTON THE HEART'S PICTURES by HIRAM H. BICE THE DESERT WIND by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT ELEGY ON THE LATE MISS BURNET, OF MONBODDO by ROBERT BURNS WHY DISTRICT SCHOOL USED TO KEEP IN VERMONT by DANIEL LEAVENS CADY |