"I am more afraid of deserving criticism than of receiving it. I stand in awe of my own opinion. The secret demerits of which we alone, perhaps, are conscious, are often more difficult to bear than those which have been publicly censured in us, and thus in some degree atoned for."

"Ah, how wonderful is the advent of spring! — the great annual miracle of the blossoming of Aaron's rod, repeated on myriads and myriads of branches! — the gentle progression and growth of herbs, flowers, trees, — gentle and yet irrepressible, — which no force can stay, no violence restrain, like love, that wins its way and cannot be withstood by any human power, because itself is divine power. If spring came but once in a century, instead of once a year, or burst forth with the sound of an earthquake, and not in silence, what wonder and expectation there would be in all hearts to behold the miraculous change! But now the silent succession suggests nothing but necessity. To most men only the cessation of the miracle would be miraculous and the perpetual exercise of God's power seems less wonderful than its withdrawal would be."

"We judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing, while others judge us by what we have already done."

"And as she looked around, she saw how Death the consoler, Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever."

"Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike."

"Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted; If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment; That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain."

"Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels."

"When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music."

"Alike were they free from Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics. Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows; But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of their owners; There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance."

"This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms."

"And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away."

"Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start."

"Not from the grand old masters, Not from the bards sublime, Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time."

"Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day."

"A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain."

"The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight."

"I stood on the bridge at midnight, As the clocks were striking the hour, And the moon rose o'er the city, Behind the dark church-tower."

"Were half the power that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals and forts."

"Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow! Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe!"

"And fast through the midnight dark and drear, Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost the vessel swept Toward the reef of Norman's Woe."

""O father! I see a gleaming light. Oh say, what may it be?" But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he."

"It was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company."

"Toiling,—rejoicing,—sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose."

"His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man."

"Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands."

"O suffering, sad humanity! O ye afflicted ones, who lie Steeped to the lips in misery, Longing, yet afraid to die, Patient, though sorely tried!"

"The prayer of Ajax was for light."

"For Time will teach thee soon the truth, There are no birds in last year's nest!"

"A traveller, by the faithful hound, Half-buried in the snow was found."

"Beware the pine tree's withered branch! Beware the awful avalanche!"

"O stay," the maiden said, "and rest Thy weary head upon this breast!"

"Try not the Pass!" the old man said; "Dark lowers the tempest overhead."

"In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright."

"The shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, Excelsior!"

"O thou child of many prayers! Life hath quicksands; life hath snares!"

"Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet!"

"I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just; It consecrates each grave within its walls, And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust."