That's best Which God sends. 'Twas His will: it is mine.

They only fall, that strive to move, Or lose, that care to keep.

No true love there can be without Its dread penalty--jealousy.

Truth makes on the ocean of nature no one track of light; every eye, looking on, finds its own.

Unseen hands delay The coming of what oft seems close in ken, And, contrary, the moment, when we say "'Twill never come!" comes on us even then.

Heaven's slow but sure redress of human ills.

That's best Which God sends. 'Twas His will: it is mine.