Faith speaks when hope is disassembled; faith lives when hope dies dead.

From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free, We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may be That no life lives for ever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea.

Fear that makes faith may break faith.

Time stoops to no man's lure.

To wipe off the froth of falsehood from the foaming lips of inebriated virtue, when fresh from the sexless orgies of morality and reeling from the delirious riot of religion, may doubtless be a charitable office.

Hope knows not if fear speaks truth, nor fear whether hope be blind as she.

The delight that consumes the desire, The desire that outruns the delight.