That tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.

I found Him in the shining of the stars.

Man is man, and master of his fate.

Her court was pure, her life serene; God gave her peace; her land reposed; A thousand claims to reverence closed.

Shall the hag Evil die with the child of Good, Or propagate again her loathèd kind, Thronging the cells of the diseased mind, Hateful with hanging cheeks, a withered brood, Though hourly pastured on the salient blood?

Sin is too stupid to see beyond itself.

Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new, That which they have done but earnest of the things which they shall do.