Mutual love, the crown of all our bliss.
Let us go forth and resolutely dare with sweat of brow to toil our little day.
The olive grove of Academe, Plato’s retirement, where the Attic bird Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long.
Perplexed and troubled at his bad success The Tempter stood, nor had what to reply, Discovered in his fraud, thrown from his hope.
Swinish gluttony never looks to heaven amidst its gorgeous feast; but with besotted, base ingratitude, cravens and blasphemes his feeder.
Where more is meant than meets the ear.
I sat me down to watch upon a bank With ivy canopied and interwove With flaunting honeysuckle.
Joking decides great things, Stronger and better oft than earnest can.
And now the herald lark Left his ground-nest, high tow’ring to descry The morn’s approach, and greet her with his song.
Witness this new-made world, another Heav’n From Heaven Gate not farr, founded in view On the clear Hyaline, the Glassie Sea; Of amplitude almost immense, with Starr’s Numerous, and every Starr perhaps a world Of destined habitation.
What call thou solitude? Is not the earth with various living creatures, and the air replenished, and all these at thy command to come and play before thee?
Nor aught availed him now to have built in heaven high towers; nor did he scrape by all his engines, but was headlong sent with his industrious crew to build in hell.
From that high mount of God whence light and shade Spring both, the face of brightest heaven had changed To grateful twilight.
O visions ill foreseen! Better had I Liv’d ignorant of future, so had borne My part of evil only.
Wickedness is weakness.
If weakness may excuse, What murderer, what traitor, parricide, Incestuous, sacrilegious, but may plead it? All wickedness is weakness; that plea, therefore, With God or man will gain thee no remission.
Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed.
How often from the steep Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard Celestial voices to the midnight air, Sole, or responsive each to other’s note, Singing their great Creator?
Assuredly we bring not innocence not the world, we bring impurity much rather: that which purifies us is trial, and trial is by what is contrary.
What if Earth be but the shadow of Heaven and things therein – each other like, more than on Earth is thought?