There is a comfort in the strength of love; 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else would overset the brain, or break the heart.

But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.

In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard seat And birds and flowers once more to greet. . . .

The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on a dim and perilous way!

What know we of the Blest above but that they sing, and that they love?

Earth helped him with the cry of blood.

But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!.