Day! Faster and more fast. O'er night's brim, day boils at last.

God is in his Heaven, all's right with the world.

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!

Poetry, like love, is something we never truly say goodbye to.

I say, the acknowledgment of God in ChristAccepted by thy reason, solves for theeAll questions in the earth and out of it,And has so far advanced thee to be wise.

Mothers, wives and maids, These be the tools with which priests manage men.

You call for faith: I show you doubt, to prove that faith exists. The more of doubt, the stronger faith, I say, If faith o'ercomes doubt.