Spires whose "silent finger points to heaven."

It is the 1st mild day of March. Each minute sweeter than before... there is a blessing in the air.

Where the statue stood Of Newton, with his prism and silent face, The marble index of a mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of thought alone.

A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free.

One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave.

Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares!- The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays.

Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.