Fairy elves, Whose midnight revels by a forest side Or fountain some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon Sits arbitress.
Such sober certainty of waking bliss.
Loneliness is the first thing which God's eye named not good.
Deep vers'd in books, and shallow in himself.
All hope is lost of my reception into grace; what worse? For where no hope is left, is left no fear.
Truth is compared in Scripture to a streaming fountain; if her waters flow not in perpetual progression, they sicken into a muddy pool of conformity and tradition.