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The Dying Christian to His Soul (1712) -Vital spark of heav'nly flame! Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame: Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, Oh the pain, the bliss of dying! Stanza 1.

Alexander Pope

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Alexander Pope
Age: 56 †
Born: 1688
Born: May 21
Died: 1744
Died: May 30
Literary Historian
Poet
Translator
the City
Pope the Poet
Alexander I Pope
Alexander
I Pope
Rings
Hoping
Stanza
Flying
Ring
Heav
Dying
Vital
Trembling
Hope
Quit
Spark
Christian
Flames
Frame
Pain
Bliss
Flame
Soul
Quitting
Sparks
Mortals
Mortal
Ling

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Ye gods, annihilate but space and time, And make two lovers happy.
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Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd, Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd. Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise, Where mixed with Gods, his lov'd idea lies: O write it not, my hand - the name appears Already written - wash it out, my tears! In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays, Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeyes.
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Tis all in vain to keep a constant pother About one vice and fall into another.
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Sole judge of Truth, in endless Error hurled: / The glory, jest, and riddle of the world!
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A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn.
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A brave man thinks no one his superior who does him an injury, for he has it then in his power to make himself superior to the other by forgiving it.
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The only time you run out of chances is when you stop taking them
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No craving void left aching in the soul.
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Learn from the birds what food the thickets yield Learn from the beasts the physic of the field The arts of building from the bee receive Learn of the mole to plow, the worm to weave.
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Interspersed in lawn and opening glades, Thin trees arise that shun each others' shades.
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To Him no high, no low, no great, no small He fills, He bounds, connects and equals all!
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I never knew any man in my life who could not bear another's misfortunes perfectly like a Christian.
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Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain awake but one, and in, what myriads rise!
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These riches are possess'd, but not enjoy'd!
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Still when the lust of tyrant power succeeds, some Athens perishes, or some Tully bleeds.
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The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine! Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.
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That character in conversation which commonly passes for agreeable is made up of civility and falsehood.
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Wine lets no lover unrewarded go.
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But to the world no bugbear is so great, As want of figure and a small estate.
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Who dies in youth and vigour, dies the best.
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