Be sure that God Ne'er dooms to waste the strength he deigns impart.
The sad rhyme of the men who proudly clung To their first fault, and withered in their pride.
Only I discern Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.
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!
Good to forgive, Best to forget.
We mortals cross the ocean of this world Each in his average cabin of a life; The bests not big, the worst yields elbowroom.