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Some men's wit is like a dark lantern, which serves their own turn and guides them their own way, but is never known (according to the Scripture phrase) either to shine forth before men, or to glorify their Father in heaven.

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
Like
Dark
Phrases
Known
Guides
Lantern
Heaven
Scripture
Lanterns
Turns
Forth
Glorify
Father
According
Serves
Way
Shining
Phrase
Never
Turn
Shine
Men
Either
Wit

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Heaven breathes thro' ev'ry member of the whole One common blessing, as one common soul.
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Who builds a church to God and not to fame, Will never mark the marble with his name.
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Search then the ruling passion: This clue, once found, unravels all the rest.
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Absent or dead, still let a friend be dear.
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And not a vanity is given in vain.
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But see how oft ambition's aims are cross'd, and chiefs contend 'til all the prize is lost!
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The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
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Some have at first for wits, then poets passed, Turned critics next, and proved plain fools at last.
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But those who cannot write, and those who can, All rhyme, and scrawl, and scribble, to a man.
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To balance Fortune by a just expense, Join with Economy, Magnificence.
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Who shall decide when doctors disagree, And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me?
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Fortune in men has some small diff'rence made, One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade, The cobbler apron'd, and the parson gown'd, The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd.
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Whoe'er he be That tells my faults, I hate him mortally.
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And make each day a critic on the last.
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Say first, of god above or man below what can we reason but from what we know.
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Oh, sons of earth! attempt ye still to rise. By mountains pil'd on mountains to the skies? Heav'n still with laughter the vain toil surveys, And buries madmen in the heaps they raise.
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She who ne'er answers till a husband cools, Or, if she rules him, never shows she rules Charms by accepting, by submitting, sways, Yet has her humor most, when she obeys.
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For what I have publish'd, I can only hope to be pardon'd but for what I have burned, I deserve to be prais'd.
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But would you sing, and rival Orpheus' strain. The wond'ring forests soon should dance again The moving mountains hear the powerful call. And headlong streams hand listening in their fall!
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To dazzle let the vain design, To raise the thought and touch the heart, be thine!
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