Work up imagination to the state of vision.
Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.
Always be ready to speak your mind, and a base man will avoid you.
Where mercy, love, and pity dwell, there God is dwelling too.
The busy bee has no time for sorrow.
Man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.