The child shall become father to the man.
The budding rose above the rose full blown.
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will; Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!
In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.