That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.

A boy's will is the wind's will.

I hear the wind among the trees Playing the celestial symphonies; I see the branches downward bent, Like keys of some great instrument.

Simplicity is the character of the spring of life, costliness becomes its autumn; but a neatness and purity, like that of the snow-drop or lily of the valley, is the peculiar fascination of beauty, to which it lends enchantment, and gives what amiability is to the mind.

Time, like a preacher in the days of the Puritans, turned the hour-glass on his high pulpit, the church belfry.

The poor too often turn away unheard, From hearts that shut against them with a sound That will be heard in heaven.

And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives.