One solace yet remains for us who came Into this world in days when story lacked Severe research, that in our hearts we know How, for exciting youth’s heroic flame, Assent is power, belief the soul of fact.
Wisdom and Spirit of the universe! Thou soul, that art the eternity of thought, And giv’st to forms and images a breath And everlasting motion.
The thought of death sits easy on the man Who has been born and dies among the mountains.
Rapt into still communion that transcends The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, His mind was a thanksgiving to the power That made him; it was blessedness and love!
He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.
Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.
What are fears but voices airy? Whispering harm where harm is not. And deluding the unwary Till the fatal bolt is shot!
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting...
Sweet is the lore which nature brings, our meddeling interlect mis-shapes the beautious forms of things. we murder to dissect.
A mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.
I’ll teach my boy the sweetest things; I’ll teach him how the owlet sings.
The best of what we do and are, Just God, forgive!
Delivered from the galling yoke of time.
Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close upon the growing boy.
The thought of our past years in me doth breed perpetual benedictions.
The education of circumstances is superior to that of tuition.
The child is father of the man: And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed.
Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow.
The mind of man is a thousand times more beautiful than the earth on which he dwells.