Truth that peeps Over the glass's edge when dinner's done.

O never star Was lost; here We all aspire to heaven and there is heaven Above us. If I stoop Into a dark tremendous sea of cloud, It is but for a time; I press God's lamp Close to my breast; its splendor soon or late Will pierce the gloom. I shall emerge some day.

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 a man's age? He must hurry more, that's all; Cram in a day, what his youth took a year to hold.

A man in armour is his armour's slave.

Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, Or what's a heaven for?

Good strong thick stupefying incense-smoke!