Man is more than half of nature's treasure.

Commemoration of Brooke Foss Westcott, Bishop of Durham, Teacher, 1901 Be not afraid to pray... to pray is right. Pray if thou canst with hope but ever pray Though hope be weak, or sick with long delay. Whatever is good to wish, ask that of heaven But if for any wish thou darest not pray, Then pray to God to cast that wish away.

Thou breeze, That mak'st an organ of the mighty sea, Obedient to thy wilful phantasies, Provoke him not to scorn but soft and low, As pious maid awakes her aged sire, On tiptoe stealing, whisper in his ear The tidings of the young god's victory.

With all your music, loud and lustily, With every dainty joy of sight and smell, Prepare a banquet meet to entertain The Lord of Thunder, that hath set you free From old oppression.

The merry year is born Like the bright berry from the naked thorn.

Valor and power may gain a lasting memory, but where are they when the brave and mighty are departed? Their effects may remain, but they live not in them any more than the fire in the work of the potter.

Be not afraid to pray--to pray is right. Pray, if thou canst, with hope but ever pray, Though hope be weak or sick with long delay Pray in the darkness, if there be no light.

If we take care of the inches, we will not have to worry about the miles.

Pray to be perfect, though material leaven Forbid the spirit so on earth to be But if for any wish thou darest not pray, Then pray to God to cast that wish away.

But what is Freedom? Rightly understood, A universal licence to be good.

Oh, where is man That mortal god, that hath no mortal kin Or like on earth? Shall Nature's orator The interpreter of all her mystic strains Shall he be mute in Nature's jubilee?

Where'er ye sojourn, and whatever names Ye are or shall be called fairies, or sylphs, Nymphs of the wood or mountain, flood or field: Live ye in peace, and long may ye be free To follow your good minds.

Is love a fancy, or a feeling?

Twere better far That gods should quaff their nectar merrily, And men sing out the day like grasshoppers, So may they haply lull the watchful thunder.