His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead, Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed.

Life is but a day; A fragile dewdrop on its perilous way From a tree's summit.

I am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky! How beautiful thou art!

It keeps eternal whisperings around desolate shores

We must repeat the often repeated saying, that it is unworthy a religious man to view an irreligious one either with alarm or aversion, or with any other feeling than regret and hope and brotherly commiseration.

There is an electric fire in human nature tending to purify - so that among these human creatures there is continually some birth of new heroism. The pity is that we must wonder at it, as we should at finding a pearl in rubbish.

A hope beyond the shadow of a dream.