I'll teach my boy the sweetest things; I'll teach him how the owlet sings.

"What is good for a bootless bene?" With these dark words begins my tale; And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail?

A light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove.

Miss not the occasion; by the forelock take that subtle power, the never-halting time.

Where the statue stood Of Newton, with his prism and silent face, The marble index of a mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of thought alone.

The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.

Serene will be our days, and bright and happy will our nature be, when love is an unerring light, and joy its own security.