O woman-country! wooed not wed,
Loved all the more by earth's male-lands,
Laid to their hearts instead.

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I trust in Nature for the stable laws
Of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant
And Autumn garner to the end of time.
I trust in God, the right shall be the right
And other than the wrong, while he endures.
I trust in my own soul, that can perceive
The outward and the inward,—Nature's good
And God's.

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So the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar
But bind him to his native mountains more.

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As aromatic plants bestow
No spicy fragrance while they grow;
But crush'd or trodden to the ground,
Diffuse their balmy sweets around.

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Every dewdrop and raindrop had a whole heaven within it.

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Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.

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The hooded clouds, like friars,
Tell their beads in drops of rain.

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Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.

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Whenever nature leaves a hole in a person's mind, she generally plasters it over with a thick coat of self-conceit.

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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!

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