But far more numerous was the herd of such, Who think too little, and who talk too much.

Men are but children of a larger growth.

Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray; Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun.

God never made his work for man to mend.

The people's prayer, the glad diviner's theme, The young men's vision, and the old men's dream!

Kings fight for empires, madmen for applause.

All empire is no more than power in trust.