These hoards of wealth you can unlock at will.

Thou unassuming common-place of Nature, with that homely face.

Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.

Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.

If thou art beautiful, and youth and thought endue thee with all truth-be strong;--be worthy of the grace of God.

Oh, blank confusion! true epitome Of what the mighty City is herself, To thousands upon thousands of her sons, Living amid the same perpetual whirl Of trivial objects, melted and reduced To one identity.

The childhood of today is the manhood of tomorrow