The old order changes yielding place to new.
Happy he With such a mother! faith in womankind Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high Comes easy to him; and tho' he trip and fall, He shall not blind his soul with clay.
Trust me not at all, or all in all.
We are ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times.
I found Him in the shining of the stars.
The quiet sense of something lost