What's up is faith, what's down is heresy.

I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods.

Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace;Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,While the stars burn, the moons increase,And the great ages onward roll. Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet. Nothing comes to thee new or strange. Sleep full of rest from head to feet;Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.

Hope Smiles from the threshold of the year to come, Whispering 'it will be happier'.

Never, oh! never, nothing will die; The stream flows, The wind blows, The cloud fleets, The heart beats, Nothing will die.

That a lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright, But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.

Those who depend on the merits of their ancestors may be said to search in the roots of the tree for those fruits which the branches ought to produce.