Of what I call God, And fools call Nature.

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.

No work begun shall ever pause for death.

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!

The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land, Breaks there, and buries its tumultuous strength.

Good to forgive, Best to forget.

But how carve way i' the life that lies before, If bent on groaning ever for the past?