Oft in my way have I stood still, though but a casual passenger, so much I felt the awfulness of life.

Spires whose "silent finger points to heaven."

The vision and the faculty divine; Yet wanting the accomplishment of verse.

Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.

The thought of our past years in me doth breed perpetual benedictions.

The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an angel's wing.

Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows That for oblivion take their daily birth From all the fuming vanities of earth.