If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars.

Thou shalt not kill; but needst not strive officiously to keep alive.

Thou shalt not steal; an empty feat, When it's so lucrative to cheat.

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars.

In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly, but westward, look, the land is bright.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main. And not by eastern windows only, When daylight comes, comes in the light; In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly! But westward, look, the land is bright!

And almost everyone when age, disease, or sorrows strike him, inclines to think there is a God, or something very like him.