Date: 1744

"What wealth in souls that soar, dive, range around, / Disdaining limit or from place or time: / And hear at once, in thought extensive, hear / The Almighty fiat, and the trumpet's sound!"

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"Commanding, with omnipotence of thought, / Creations new in Fancy's field to rise! / Souls, that can grasp whate'er the Almighty made, / And wander wild through things impossible!"

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"Roused at the sound, the exulting soul ascends, / And breathes her native air; an air that feeds / Ambitions high, and fans ethereal fires; / Quick kindles all that is Divine within us, / Nor leaves one loitering thought beneath the stars."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"What slave, unbless'd, who from to-morrow's dawn / Expects an empire? He forgets his chain, / And, throned in thought, his absent sceptre waves."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"Are there on earth (let me not call them men) / Who lodge a soul immortal in their breasts; / Unconscious as the mountain of its ore; / Or rock, of its inestimable gem? / When rocks shall melt, and mountains vanish, these / Shall know their treasure; treasure then no more.

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"The aspiring Soul, / Ardent and tremulous, like flame, ascends; / Zeal and Humility her wings to heaven."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1744

"Here, dormant matter waits a call to life; / Half-life, half-death, join there: here, life and sense; / There, sense from reason steals a glimmering ray; / Reason shines out in man."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1743, 1745

"'Tis Power's supreme prerogative to stamp / On others' minds an image of its own"

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1743, 1745

"From the court-mint, of hearts the current coin / The pulpit presses, but the pattern drives."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)

Date: 1745

"A world, where Lust of Pleasure, Grandeur, Gold, / Three demons that divide its realms between them, / With strokes alternate buffet to and fro / Man's restless heart, their sport, their flying ball; / Till with the giddy circle sick and tired, / It pants for peace, and drops into despair."

— Young, Edward (bap. 1683, d. 1765)