He murmurs near the running brooks A music sweeter than their own.

The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.

If thou art beautiful, and youth and thought endue thee with all truth-be strong;--be worthy of the grace of God.

And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.

Who, doomed to go in company with Pain And Fear and Bloodshed,-miserable train!- Turns his necessity to glorious gain.

By all means sometimes be alone; salute thyself; see what thy soul doth wear; dare to look in thy chest; and tumble up and down what thou findest there.

With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.