No rock so hard but that a little wave may beat admission in a thousand years.

Mastering the lawless science of our law,- that codeless myriad of precedent, that wilderness of single instances.

There lives more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in half the creeds.

Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.

I have led her home, my love, my only friend. There is none like her, none, And never yet so warmly ran my blood, And sweetly, on and on Calming itself to the long-wished for end, Full to the banks, close on the prom- ised good.

Faith lives in honest doubt.

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