A friend is worth all hazards we can run.

The bell strikes One. We take no note of time But from its loss. To give it then a tongue Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the knell of my departed hours.

On every thorn, delightful wisdom grows, In every rill a sweet instruction flows.

Who gives an empire, by the gift defeats All end of giving; and procures contempt Instead of gratitude.

However smothered under former negligence, or scattered through the dull, dark mass of common thoughts - let thy genius rise as the sun from chaos.

The spirit walks of every day deceased.

The soft whispers of the God in man.