And When Midst Fallen London, They Survey

The Dead Of Midnight Is The Noon Of Thought.

Many Things I Knew, I Have Forgotten; Many Things I Thought I Knew, I Find I Know Nothing About; Some Things I Know, I Have Found Not Worth Knowing; And Some Things I Would Give - O What Would One Not Give To Know? Are Beyond The Reach Of Human Ken.

Eternity.—thy Name Or Glad, Or Fearful, We Pronounce, As Thoughts Wandering In Darkness Shape Thee. Thou Strange Being, Which Art And Must Be, Yet Which Contradict'st All Sense, All Reasoning,—thou, Who Never Wast Less Than Thyself, And Who Still Art Thyself Entire, Though The Deep Draught Which Time Has Taken Equals Thy Present Store—no Line Can Reach To Thy Unfathomed Depths. The Reasoning Sage Who Can Dissect A Sunbeam, Count The Stars, And Measure Distant Worlds, Is Here A Child, And, Humbled, Drops His Calculating Pen.

It Would Be Difficult To Determine Whether The Age Is Growing Better Or Worse; For I Think Our Plays Are Growing Like Sermons, And Our Sermons Like Plays.

So Fades A Summer Cloud Away; So Sinks The Gale When Storms Are O'er; So Gently Shuts The Eye Of Day; So Dies A Wave Along The Shore.