The sun is all about the world we see, the breath and strength of every spring.

Who knows but on their sleep may rise Such light as never heaven let through To lighten earth from Paradise?

Fear that makes faith may break faith.

Change lays her hand not upon the truth.

We are not sure of sorrow, And joy was never sure; Today will die tomorrow; 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.

The beast faith lives on its own dung.