God warms his hands at man's heart when he prays.

I have seen dawn and sunset on moors and windy hills Coming in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of Spain.

Man's body is faulty, his mind untrustworthy, but his imagination has made him remarkable.

The days that make us happy make us wise

So death obscures your gentle form, So memory strives to make the darkness bright; And, in that heap of rocks, your body lies, Part of the island till the planet ends, My gentle comrade, beautiful and wise, Part of this crag this bitter surge offends, While I, who pass, a little obscure thing, War with this force, and breathe, and am its king.

Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir, Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine, With a cargo of ivory, And apes and peacocks, Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.

His face was filled with broken commandments.