Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unseen, a kiss; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss.
There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart; he does not feel for man.
Trials make the promise sweet, Trials give new life to prayer; Trials bring me to His feet, Lay me low, and keep me there.
Accomplishments have taken virtue's place, and wisdom falls before exterior grace.
Could he with reason murmur at his case, Himself sole author of his own disgrace?
Absence of occupation is not rest; A mind quite vacant is a mind distressed.