I am a part of all that I have met.

Yonder cloud That rises upward always higher, And onward drags a laboring breast, And topples round the dreary west, A looming bastion fringed with fire.

With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart.

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.

Old men must die, or the world would grow mouldy, would only breed the past again.

O mighty-mouthed inventor of harmonies, O skilled to sing of Time or Eternity, God-gifted organ-voice of England, Milton, a name to resound for ages.

Science grows and Beauty dwindles.