Measure not the work until the day's out and the labor done.

"There is no God," the foolish saith, But none, "There is no sorrow." And nature oft the cry of faith In bitter need will borrow: Eyes which the preacher could not school, By wayside graves are raised; And lips say, "God be pitiful," Who ne'er said, "God be praised."

God Himself is the best Poet, And the Real is His song.

Our Euripides the human, With his droppings of warm tears, and his touchings of things common Till they rose to meet the spheres.

For frequent tears have run; The colours from my life.

Some people always sigh in thanking God.

We all have known good critics, who have stamped out poet's hopes; Good statesmen, who pulled ruin on the state; Good patriots, who, for a theory, risked a cause; Good kings, who disemboweled for a tax; Good Popes, who brought all good to jeopardy; Good Christians, who sat still in easy-chairs; And damned the general world for standing up. Now, may the good God pardon all good men!