Music exalts each joy, allays each grief, expels diseases, softens every pain.
Know, then, whatever cheerful and serene supports the mind supports the body too.
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.
For wisest ends this universal Power Gave appetites, from whose quick impulse life Subsists, by which we only live, all life Insipid else, unactive, unenjoy’d. Hence to this peopled earth, which, that extinct, That flame for propagation, soon would roll A lifeless mass, and vainly cumber heaven.
Virtue and sense are one; and, trust me, still A faithless heart betrays the head unsound.
For want of timely care Millions have died of medicable wounds.
Tis not for mortals always to be blest.
You don’t ask a juggler which ball is highest in priority. Success is to do it all.