I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air; I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care.

Nothing before, nothing behind; The steps of faith Fall on the seeming void, and find The Rock beneath.

Through the open door A drowsy smell of flowers -grey heliotrope And white sweet clover, and shy mignonette Comes fairly in, and silent chorus leads To the pervading symphony of Peace.

Clothe with life the weak intent, Let me be the thing I meant.

Give fools their gold, and knaves their power; let fortune's bubbles rise and fall; who sows a field, or trains a flower, or plants a tree, is more than all.

Nature eschews regular lines; she does not shape her lines by a common model. Not one of Eve's numerous progeny in all respects resembles her who first culled the flowers of Eden. To the infinite variety and picturesque inequality of nature we owe the great charm of her uncloying beauty.

I'll lift you and you lift me, and we'll both ascend together.