thus men forgot that all deities reside in the human breast.

Excessive sorrow laughs. Excessive joy weeps.

Pity would be no more, If we did not make somebody poor. Mercy no more could be, If all were happy as we.

Thou fair-hair'd angel of the evening, Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!

God appears, and God is Light, to those poor souls who dwell in Night; but does a Human Form display to those who dwell in realms of Day.

I heard an Angel singing; When the day was springing, Mercy, Pity, Peace; Is the world's release.

Exuberance is beauty.