How I do love the earth. I feel it thrill under my feet. I feel somehow as if it were conscious of my love, as if something passed into my dancing blood from it.

Again, now, now, again Plashes the rain in heavy gouts, The crinkled lightning Seems ever brightening... And loud and long Again the thunder shouts His battle-song, - One quivering flash, One wildering crash, Followed by silence dead and dull, As if the cloud, let go, Leapt bodily below To whelm the earth in one mad overthrow, And then a total lull.

All thoughts that mold the age begin deep down within the primitive soul.

Old events have modern meanings; only that survives of past history which finds kindred in all hearts and lives.

Some kind of pace may be got out of the eeriest jade by the near prospect of oats; but the thoroughbred has the spur in his blood.

Be He nowhere else, God is in all that liberates and lifts, in all that humbles, sweetens, and consoles.

If youth be a defect, it is one that we outgrow only too soon.