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The man who seeks one thing in life, and but one, May hope to achieve it before life be done, But he who seeks all things, wherever he goes, Only reaps from the hopes which around him he sows A harvest of barren regrets.

'Tis more brave To live, than to die.

To all facts there are laws, The effect has its cause, and I mount to the cause.

As pure as a pearl, And as perfect: a noble and innocent girl.

Oh, better no doubt is a dinner of herbs, When season'd with love, which no rancour disturbs And sweeten'd by all that is sweetest in life Than turbot, bisque, ortolans, eaten in strife! But if, out of humour, and hungry, alone A man should sit down to dinner, each one Of the dishes which the cook chooses to spoil With a horrible mixture of garlic and oil, The chances are ten against one, I must own, He gets up as ill-tempered as when he sat down.

The first wan cowslip, wet With tears of the first morn.

Through tall cowslips nodding near you, Just to touch you as you pass.

We are but as the instrument of Heaven. Our work is not design, but destiny.

We are what we must And not what we would be. I know that one hour Assures not another. The will and the power Are diverse.

Unseen hands delay The coming of what oft seems close in ken, And, contrary, the moment, when we say "'Twill never come!" comes on us even then.

They only fall, that strive to move, Or lose, that care to keep.

The devil, my friends, is a woman just now. 'Tis a woman that reigns in Hell.

The things which must be, must be for the best, God helps us do our duty and not shrink, And trust His mercy humbly for the rest.

O hour, of all hours, the most blesse'd upon earth, The bless'd hour of our dinners!

We may live without poetry, music and art; We may live without conscience, and live without heart; We may live without friends; we may live without books; But civilized man cannot live without cooks. He may live without books,--what is knowledge but grieving? He may live without hope,--what is hope but deceiving? He may live without love,--what is passion but pining? But where is the man that can live without dining?

Here's a health to the glow-worm, Death's sober lamplighter.

That man is great, and he alone, Who serves a greatness not his own, For neither praise nor pelf: Content to know and be unknown: Whole in himself.

O be very sure That no man will learn anything at all, Unless he first will learn humility.

Don't be so humble--you are not that great.

No life Can be pure in its purpose or strong in its strife And all life not be purer and stronger thereby.