The counterfeit and counterpart of Nature is reproduced in art.

Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate, Who ne'er the mournful midnight hours Weeping upon his bed has sate, He knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers.

Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice triumphs.

Gone are the living, but the dead remain, And not neglected; for a hand unseen, Scattering its bounty like a summer rain, Still keeps their graves and their remembrance green.

The bravest are the tenderest.

The rays of happiness, like those of light, are colorless when unbroken.

All sense of hearing and of sight enfold in the serene delight and quietude of sleep.