There swift return Diurnal, merely to officiate light Round this opacous earth, this punctual spot.

And oft, though wisdom wake, suspicion sleeps At wisdom's gate, and to simplicity Resigns her charge, while goodness thinks no ill Where no ill seems.

Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil.

Nothing lovelier can be found In woman, than to study household good, And good works in her husband to promote.

Death from sin no power can separate.

The pious and just honoring of ourselves may be thought the fountainhead from whence every laudable and worthy enterprise issues forth.

Where there is much desire to learn, there of necessity will be much arguing, much writing, for opinion in good men is but knowledge in the making.