When religion doth with virtue join, it makes a hero like an angel shine.
Give us enough but with a sparing hand.
So must the writer, whose productions should Take with the vulgar, be of vulgar mould.
With wisdom fraught; not such as books, but such as practice taught.
The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made. Stronger by weakness, wiser men become As they draw near to their eternal home: Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view That stand upon the threshold of the new.
The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; So calm are we when passions are no more!