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Music exalts each joy, allays each grief, expels diseases, softens every pain.

John Armstrong

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John Armstrong
Disease
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Music
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Diseases
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Your friends avoid you, brutishly transform'd They hardly know you, or if one remains To wish you well, he wishes you in heaven.
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Tis not too late to-morrow to be brave.
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Our greatest good, and what we least can spare, Is hope: the last of all our evils, fear.
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Time shakes the stable tyranny of thrones, And tottering empires rush by their own weight.
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You can't help people that don't want to be helped.
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Much had he read, Much more had he seen he studied from the life, And in th' original perus'd mankind.
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How sickly grow, How pale, the plants in those ill-fated vales That, circled round with the gigantic heap Of mountains, never felt, nor ever hope To feel, the genial vigor of the sun!
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What Nature bids is good, is wise, and faultless we obey.
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There are, while human miseries abound, A thousand ways to waste superfluous wealth, Without one fool or flatterer at your board, Without one hour of sickness or disgust.
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Autumn ripens in the summer's ray.
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If from thy secret bed Of luxury unbidden offspring rise, Let them be kindly welcom'd to the day.
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How happy he whose toil Has o'er his languid pow'rless limbs diffus'd A pleasing lassitude he not in vain Invokes the gentle Deity of dreams. His pow'rs the most voluptuously dissolve In soft repose on him the balmy dews Of Sleep with double nutriment descend.
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Virtue, the strength and beauty of the soul, Is the best gift of Heaven: a happiness That even above the smiles and frowns of fate Exalts great Nature's favourites: a wealth That ne'er encumbers, nor can be transferr'd.
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Tis not for mortals always to be blest.
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Then love of pleasure sways each heart, and we From that no more than from ourselves can fly. Blameless when govern'd well. But where it errs Extravagant, and wildly leads to ill, Public or private, there its curbing pow'r Cool reason must exert.
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Virtue and sense are one and, trust me, still A faithless heart betrays the head unsound.
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Know, then, whatever cheerful and serene supports the mind supports the body too.
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Impious! forbear thus the first general hail. To disappoint, Increase and multiply, To shed thy blossoms thro' the desert air, And sow thy perish'd offspring in the winds.
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Hope is the first thing to take some sort of action.
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The blood, the fountain whence the spirits flow The generous stream that waters every part, And motion, vigor, and warm life conveys To every particle that moves or lives.
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