As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.

Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.

A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays And confident tomorrows.

She gave me eyes, she gave me ears; And humble cares, and delicate fears; A heart, the fountain of sweet tears; And love and thought and joy.

He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure; No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.

The child is father of the man.

For all things are less dreadful than they seem.