There is a beautiful spirit breathing now Its mellowed richness on the clustered trees, And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved, Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down By the wayside a-weary.

Mercy more becomes a magistrate than the vindictive wrath which men call justice.

He looks the whole world in the face for he owes not any man.

To charm, to strengthen, and to teach: these are the three great chords of might.

People demand freedom only when they have no power.

How can I teach your children gentleness and mercy to the weak, and reverence for life, which in its nakedness and excess, is still a gleam of God's omnipotence, when by your laws, your actions and your speech, you contradict the very things I teach?

The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight.