God! Thou art love! I build my faith on that.

Make us happy and you make us good.

Of power does Man possess no particle: Of knowledge-just so much as show that still It ends in ignorance on every side.

O world, as God has made it! All is beauty.

How well I know what I mean to do When the long dark Autumn evenings come, And where, my soul, is thy pleasant hue? With the music of all thy voices, dumb In life’s November too! I shall be found by the fire, suppose, O’er a great wise book as beseemeth age, While the shutters flap as the cross-wind blows, And I turn the page, and I turn the page, Not verse now, only prose!

Who hears music feels his solitude peopled at once.

Why comes temptation but for man to meet And master and make crouch beneath his foot, And so be pedestaled in triumph?