The old order changeth, yielding place to new, and god fulfills himself in many ways, lest one good custom should corrupt the world.

Forgive my grief for one removed Thy creature whom I found so fair I trust he lives in Thee and there I find him worthier to be loved.

God gives us love! Something to love He lends us; but when love is grown To ripeness, that on which it throve Falls off, and love is left alone: This is the curse of time.

Tis held that sorrow makes us wise.

All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.

For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid.

The smell of violets, hidden in the green, Pour'd back into my empty soul and frame The times when I remembered to have been Joyful and free from blame.