God! Thou art love! I build my faith on that.
The only fault's with time; All men become good creatures: but so slow!
Twere too absurd to slight For the hereafter the todays delight!
Our interest's on the dangerous edge of things. The honest thief, the tender murderer, the superstitious atheist.
White shall not neutralize the black, nor good compensate bad in man, absolve him so; life's business being just the terrible choice.
Better have failed in the high aim, as I, Than vulgarly in the low aim succeed As, God be thanked! I do not.