Yet tears to human suffering are due; And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown Are mourned by man, and not by man alone.
For all things are less dreadful than they seem.
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--But how could I forget thee?
The child is the father of man.
The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an angel's wing.
Rest and be thankful.