Talent Should Minister To Genius.

Such Ever Was Love's Way: To Rise, It Stoops.

All Good Things Are Ours, Nor Soul Helps Flesh More, Now, Than Flesh Helps Soul!

Earth Is Crammed With Heavens.

Oh, Good Gigantic Smile O' The Brown Old Earth, This Autumn Morning! How He Sets His Bones To Bask I' The Sun, And Thrusts Out Knees And Feet. From The Ripple To Run Over In Its Mirth

God Is In His Heaven, All's Right With The World.