Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore of nicely-caluculated less or more.

What we have loved Others will love And we will teach them how.

The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune.

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

A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

To be a Prodigal's favourite,-then, worse truth, A Miser's pensioner,-behold our lot!

In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.