Men are not angels, neither are they brutes.
Tis Man's to explore up and down, inch by inch, with the taper his reason.
Truth never hurts the teller.
One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, sleep to wake.
Needs there groan a world in anguish just to teach us sympathy?
That great brow And the spirit-small hand propping it.