Reason saw not, till Faith sprung the Light.
Virtue in distress, and vice in triumph make atheists of mankind.
Many things impossible to thought have been by need to full perfection brought.
Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; and every little absence is an age.
Our souls sit close and silently within, And their own web from their own entrails spin; And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such, That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.
Great souls forgive not injuries till time has put their enemies within their power, that they may show forgiveness is their own.