Who knows most, doubts most.

Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in his hand who saith, 'A whole I planned, youth shows but half; Trust God: See all, nor be afraid!

My business is not to remake myself, but to make the absolute best of what God made.

Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, This autumn morning! How he sets his bones To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet. From the ripple to run over in its mirth

All poetry is difficult to read - The sense of it anyhow.

Why stay on the earth except to grow.

The body sprang At once to the height, and stayed; but the soul,-no!