With battlements that on their restless fronts Bore stars.
Open-mindedness is the harvest of a quiet eye.
And when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.
A light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove.
For nature then to me was all in all.
The thought of our past years in me doth breed perpetual benedictions.