Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher.

Books are yours, Within whose silent chambers treasure lies Preserved from age to age; more precious far Than that accumulated store of gold And orient gems, which, for a day of need, The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs. These hoards of truth you can unlock at will.

For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.

The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.

Up! up! my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you 'll grow double! Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks! Why all this toil and trouble?

One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave.

Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feel To self-reproach.