Knowing that Nature never did betray the heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, through all the years of this our life, to lead from joy to joy.

Sweet Mercy! to the gates of heaven This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven; The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of Earth's bitter leaven Effaced forever.

Alas! how little can a moment show Of an eye where feeling plays In ten thousand dewy rays: A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!

With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.

The common growth of Mother Earth Suffices me,-her tears, her mirth, Her humblest mirth and tears.

But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.

Our meddling intellect Misshapes the beauteous forms of things We murder to dissect