Death: the grand perhaps.

And gain is gain, however small.

We find great things are made of little things, And little things go lessening till at last Comes God behind them.

I see my way as birds their trackless way. I shall arrive,- what time, what circuit first, I ask not; but unless God send his hail Or blinding fire-balls, sleet or stifling snow, In some time, his good time, I shall arrive: He guides me and the bird. In his good time.

What's come to perfection perishes. Things learned on earth we shall practice in heaven; Works done least rapidly Art most cherishes.

Once more on my adventure brave and new.

Days decrease, / And autumn grows, autumn in everything.