T is the work of many a dark hour, many a prayer, to bring the heart back from an infant gone.

The smallest pebble in the well of truth has its peculiar meaning, and will stand when man's best monuments have passed away.

The night is made for tenderness,--so still that the low whisper, scarcely audible, is heard like music,--and so deeply pure that the fond thought is chastened as it springs and on the lip made holy.

A lamp is lit in woman's eye; that souls, else lost on earth, remember angels by.

Temptation hath a music for all ears.

Of dead kingdoms I recall the soul, sitting amid their ruins

I have unlearned contempt; it is a sin that is engendered earliest in the soul, and doth beset it like a poison worm feeding on all its beauty.