Only I discern Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.
Generations pass while some tree stands, and old families last not three oaks.
The great beacon light God sets in all, the conscience of each bosom.
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, lest you should think he never could recapture the first fine careless rapture!
What joy is better than the news of friends?
Be sure they sleep not whom God needs.