Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives.
Meek Walton’s heavenly memory.
The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.
Stop thinking for once in your life!
The Eagle, he was lord above.
As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.
The first cuckoo’s melancholy cry.
Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows Like harmony in music; there is a dark Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles Discordant elements, makes them cling together In one society.
A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays And confident tomorrows.
If thou art beautiful, and youth and thought endue thee with all truth-be strong; – be worthy of the grace of God.
The Primrose for a veil had spread The largest of her upright leaves; And thus for purposes benign, A simple flower deceives.
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.