Since there my past life lies, why alter it?
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.
All service is the same with God.
Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.
Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, who can tell!
And inasmuch as feeling, the East's gift, Is quick and transient,- comes, and lo! is gone, While Northern thought is slow and durable.