Earth being so good, would heaven seem best?

Tis Man's to explore up and down, inch by inch, with the taper his reason.

I see my way as birds their trackless way. I shall arrive,- what time, what circuit first, I ask not; but unless God send his hail Or blinding fire-balls, sleet or stifling snow, In some time, his good time, I shall arrive: He guides me and the bird. In his good time.

Unless you can love, as the angels may, With the breadth of heaven betwixt you; Unless you can dream that his faith is fast, Through behoving and unbeloving; Unless you can die when the dream is past- Oh, never call it loving!

Pippa's Song The year's at the spring The day's at the morn Morning's at seven, The Hill side's dew-pearled The lark's on the wing The snail's on the thorn God's in his heaven- All's right with the world

Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.

Must in death your daylight finish? My sun sets to rise again.