Bright-eyed Fancy, hov'ring o'er, Scatters from her pictured urn Thoughts that breathe and words that burn.

If the best man's faults were written on his forehead, he would draw his hat over his eyes.

Rich with the spoils of time.

There are certain scenes that would awe an atheist into belief, without the help of other argument.

Ah, tell them they are men!

Bright-eyed Fancy, hov'ring o'er, Scatters from her pictured urn Thoughts that breathe and words that burn.

He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time: The living throne, the sapphire blaze, Where angels tremble while they gaze, He saw; but blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night.