Nothing in Nature is unbeautiful.

Virtue!--to be good and just-- Every heart, when sifted well, Is a clot of warmer dust, Mix'd with cunning sparks of hell.

Not once or twice in our rough island story, The path of duty was the way to glory.

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

Do we indeed desire the dead Should still be near us at our side ? Is there no baseness we would hide ? No inner vileness that we dread ? How many a father have I seen A sober man, among his boys Whose youth was full of foolish noise.

Strong Son of God, immortal Love, Whom we, that have not seen thy face, By faith, and faith alone, embrace, Believing where we cannot prove.

It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, And see the great Achilles whom we knew.