How much a dunce that has been sent to roam, excels a dunce that has been kept at home.

Still ending, and beginning still.

Visits are insatiable devourers of time, and fit only for those who, if they did not that, would do nothing.

O Winter! ruler of the inverted year, . . . I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fireside enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturbed Retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted evening, know.

Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unseen, a kiss; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss.

Far happier are the dead methinks than they who look for death and fear it every day.

The Spirit breathes upon the Word and brings the truth to sight.