Finds progress, man's distinctive mark alone, Not God's, and not the beast's; God is, they are, Man partly is, and wholly hopes to be.

Is your love for the Lord sufficient to give all your time and talents to his work?

Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!

Let's contend no more, Love, Strive nor weep: All be as before Love, - Only sleep.

Smiling the boy fell dead.

How strange now, looks the life he makes us lead; So free we seem, so fettered fast we are!

Men are not angels, neither are they brutes.