Not every bloom that greets the eye’s delight May claim the rose, nor wear its noble grace; Nor every star that wanders through the night May bear the sun’s resplendent, sovereign place. And those whose hearts in sacred awe abide, Shall feel no torment in their silent rest; For fear of God becomes their shield and guide, Within the grave, their souls remain most blessed. What shine hath coal, though cast in gleaming air? Not every stone is jewel of great worth; Why must I prove the truth beyond repair, When answers fail to meet all questions’ birth? They who for gain alone their bonds maintain, Know not the art of honour, nor its claim; Where thorns reside and barren paths remain, No garden blooms, nor beauty there shall reign.