What know we of the Blest above but that they sing, and that they love?

Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.

Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.

. . .this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 't is her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold Is full of blessings.

Let Nature be your teacher

Those old credulities, to Nature dear, Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock Of history?

Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream.