Over my head his arm he flung, Against the world.

The sad rhyme of the men who proudly clung To their first fault, and withered in their pride.

For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minute's at end, And the elements' rage, the fiend voices that rave, Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, And with God be the rest!

I walked a mile with Pleasure; She chattered all the way. But left me none the wiser For all she had to say. I walked a mile with Sorrow And ne'er a word said she; But oh, the things I learned from her When Sorrow walked with me!

When pain ends, gain ends too.

It's wiser being good than bad; It's safer being meek than fierce: It's fitter being sane than mad.

What Youth deemed crystal, Age finds out was dew.