Good strong thick stupefying incense-smoke!

For life, with all its yields of joy and woe Is just a chance o' the prize of learning love.

Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her- Next time, herself!-not the trouble behind her

Talent should minister to genius.

Why comes temptation but for man to meet And master and make crouch beneath his foot, And so be pedestaled in triumph?

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.

Only I discern Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.