How base a thing it is when a man will struggle with necessity! We have to die.

Blood streams in sacrifice; yet anguish finds no cure.

Happy the man whose lot it is to know The secrets of the earth. He hastens not To work his fellows hurt by unjust deeds, But with rapt admiration contemplates Immortal Nature's ageless harmony, And how and when the order came to be.

Song brings of itself a cheerfulness that wakes the heart of joy.

The care of God for us is a great thing, if a man believe it at heart: it plucks the burden of sorrow from him.

A just cause needs no interpreting. It carries its own case. But the unjust argument since it is sick, needs clever medicine.

The brash unbridled tongue, the lawless folly of fools, will end in pain. But the life of wise content is blest with quietness, escapes the storm and keeps its house secure.