Death: the grand perhaps.
Thought is the soul of act.
I do what many dream of, all their lives.
Praise is deeper than the lips.
The world and life’s too big to pass for a dream.
Imperfection means perfection hid.
Tis looking downward makes one dizzy.
Man seeks his own good at the whole world’s cost.
A man in armor is his armor’s slave.
When pain ends, gain ends too.
Can we love but on condition that the thing we love must die?
The heavens and earth stay as they were; my heart Beats as it beat: the truth remains the truth.
T’was a thief said the last kind word to Christ. Christ took the kindness and forgave the theft.
From the sprinkled isles, Lily on lily, that o’erlace the sea.
Dear, dead women, with such hair, too – what’s become of all the gold Used to hang and brush their bosoms?
I hold that a man should strive to the uttermost for his life’s set prize.
Needs there groan a world in anguish just to teach us sympathy?
Twere too absurd to slight For the hereafter the todays delight!
We mortals cross the ocean of this world Each in his average cabin of a life; The bests not big, the worst yields elbowroom.
Men are not angels, neither are they brutes.