Some feelings are to mortals given With less of earth in them than heaven.

Whose lenient sorrows find relief, whose joys are chastened by their grief.

It is wonderful what strength of purpose and boldness and energy of will are roused by the assurance that we are doing our duty.

The way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old; His withered cheek, and tresses gray, Seemed to have know a better day.

We build statues out of snow, and weep to see them melt.

O! many a shaft, at random sent, Finds mark the archer little meant! And many a word, at random spoken, May soothe or wound a heart that's broken!

Many a law, many a commandment have I broken, but my word never.