I falter where I firmly trod, And falling with my weight of cares Upon the great world's altar-stairs That slope thro' darkness up to God, I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, And gather dust and chaff, and call To what I feel is Lord of all, And faintly trust the larger hope.
Alfred Lord TennysonTheirs is not to make reply: Theirs is not to reason why: Theirs is but to do and die.
Alfred Lord TennysonIt may be that no life is found, Which only to one engine bound Falls off, but cycles always round.
Alfred Lord TennysonTo me He is all fault who hath no fault at all: For who loves me must have a touch of earth.
Alfred Lord TennysonI stood on a tower in the wet, And New Year and Old Year met, And winds were roaring and blowing: And I said, "O years, that meet in tears, Have ye aught that is worth the knowing? Science enough and exploring, Wanderers coming and going, Matter enough for deploring, But aught that is worth the knowing?
Alfred Lord Tennyson