Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore of nicely-caluculated less or more.
All that we behold is full of blessings.
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.
A deep distress has humanised my soul.
The silence that is in the starry sky, / The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light