Time'swheelsrunsbackor stops: Potterand clayendure.

What? Was man made a wheel-work to wind up, And be discharged, and straight wound up anew? No! grown, his growth lasts; taught, he ne'er forgets: May learn a thousand things, not twice the same.

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

Let's contend no more, Love, Strive nor weep: All be as before Love, - Only sleep.

Make no more giants, God!But elevate the race at once!

Are there not, dear Michael, Two points in the adventure of the diver,- One, when a beggar he prepares to plunge; One, when a prince he rises with his pearl? Festus, I plunge.

Lose who may-I still can say, Those who win heaven, blest are they!