One with more of soul in his face than words on his tongue.

Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.

. . .this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 't is her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold Is full of blessings.

Delivered from the galling yoke of time.

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

Spade! Thou art a tool of honor in my hands. I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride.

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