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

Death is the quiet haven of us all.

I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man.

Whether we be young or old,Our destiny, our being's heart and home,Is with infinitude, and only there;With hope it is, hope that can never die,Effort and expectation, and desire,And something evermore about to be.

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

The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.

Wisdom sits with children round her knees.