I hold that a man had better be dead than alive when his work is done.
Nothing in this low and ruined world bears the meek impress of the Son of God so surely as forgiveness.
He who loves best his fellow-man, is loving God the holiest way he can.
The path of duty I clearly trace, / I stand with conscience face to face, / And all her pleas allow; / Calling and crying the while for grace, - / 'Some other time, and some other place; / Oh, not to-day; not now!
Women and men in the crowd meet and mingle, Yet with itself every soul standeth single.
Shut up the door: who loves me must not look / Upon the withered world, but haste to bring / His lighted candle, and his story-book, / And live with me the poetry of spring.