The clouds that gather round the setting sun do take a sober colouring from an eye that hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live, thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, to me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.

Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.

That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.

And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.

A few strong instincts and a few plain rules.

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind.