Let knowledge grow from more to more, But more of reverence in us dwell; That mind and soul, according well, May make one music as before, But vaster.

Ours is not to wonder why. Ours is just to do or die.

Love is the only gold.

What! I should call on that Infinite Love that has served us so well? Infinite cruelty rather, that made everlasting hell, Made us, foreknew us, foredoom'd us, and does what he will with his own; Better our dead brute mother who never has heard us groan.

Rich in saving common-sense, And, as the greatest only are, In his simplicity sublime.

A smile abroad is often a scowl at home.

Sweet is true love that is given in vain, and sweet is death that takes away pain.