His faithful dog salutes the smiling guest.

Where the Scriptures speak, we speak; where the Scriptures are silent, we are silent.

The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.

Our purpose is to grow up and become love

What though my winged hours of bliss have been, Like angel visits, few and far between.

Ye are brothers! ye are men! And we conquer but to save.

O leave this barren spot to me! Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree.