Creation sleeps! 'T is as the general pulse Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause,- An awful pause! prophetic of her end.
How blessings brighten as they take their flight.
Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow.
A God all mercy is a God unjust.
The future... seems to me no unified dream but a mince pie, long in the baking, never quite done
This vast and solid earth, that blazing sun, Those skies, thro' which it rolls, must all have end. What then is man? The smallest part of nothing.