But how can he expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?

The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart.

Rest and be thankful.

Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore; Plain living and high thinking are no more.

Sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.

The education of circumstances is superior to that of tuition.

In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard seat And birds and flowers once more to greet. . . .