Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace.

But the churchmen fain would kill their church, As the churches have kill'd their Christ.

Nothing in Nature is unbeautiful.

A still small voice spake unto me, 'Thou art so full of misery, Were it not better not to be?

One so small Who knowing nothing knows but to obey.

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

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.