Think, in mounting higher, the angels would press on us, and aspire to drop some golden orb of perfect song into our deep, dear silence.

Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God: But only he who sees takes off his shoes.

Get work, get work; Be sure 'tis better than what you work to get.

Whoso loves, believes in the impossible

Quick-loving hearts ... may quickly loathe.

Who so loves believes the impossible.

Will that light come again, As now these tears come...falling hot and real!