The eyes of a man in the jaundice make yellow observations on everything; and the soul tinctured with any passion diffuses a false color over the appearance of things.
When I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies, I'll bid farewell to every fear, And wipe my weeping eyes.
But, children, you should never let Such angry passions rise; Your little hands were never made To tear each other's eyes.
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