When the power of imparting joy is equal to the will, the human soul requires no other heaven.

A God made by man undoubtedly has need of man to make himself known to man.

a single word even may be a spark of inextinguishable thought

Worlds on worlds are rolling ever From creation to decay, Like the bubbles on a river Sparkling, bursting, borne away.

As long as skies are blue, and fields are green Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow, Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow

Ah, woe is me! Winter is come and gone. But grief returns with the revolving year.

The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying, And the Year On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead, Is lying. . . .