Spade! Thou art a tool of honor in my hands. I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride.

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.

Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares!- The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays.

Rest and be thankful.

Spires whose "silent finger points to heaven."

The world is too much with us; late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours.

...one interior life in which all beings live with God, themselves are God, existing in the mighty whole, indistinguishable as the cloudless east is from the cloudless west, when all the hemisphere is one cerulean blue.