I found Him in the shining of the stars.

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

Sweet is every sound, sweeter the voice, but every sound is sweet.

Nothing in Nature is unbeautiful.

O Love! what hours were thine and mine, In lands of palm and southern pine; In lands of palm, of orange-blossom, Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine!

Of love that never found his earthly close, What sequel? Streaming eyes and breaking hearts; Or all the same as if he had not been?

More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.