We mortals cross the ocean of this world Each in his average cabin of a life; The bests not big, the worst yields elbowroom.

If you can sit at set of sun And count the deeds that you have done And counting find oneself-denying act, one word That eased the heart of him that heard. One glance most kind, Which fell like sunshine where he went, Then you may count that day well spent.

Only I discern Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.

Shakespeare was of us, Milton was of us, Burns, Shelley, were with us. They watch from their graves!

Are there not, dear Michael, Two points in the adventure of the diver,- One, when a beggar he prepares to plunge; One, when a prince he rises with his pearl? Festus, I plunge.

No work begun shall ever pause for death.

So, fall asleep love, loved by me... for I know love, I am loved by thee.