As The Twig Is Bent, So Grows

One Thought Of Thee Puts All The Pomp To Flight; Priests, Tapers, Temples, Swim Before My Sight.

Condition, Circumstance, Is Not The Thing; Bliss Is The Same In Subject Or In King.

Good God! How Often Are We To Die Before We Go Quite Off This Stage? In Every Friend We Lose A Part Of Ourselves, And The Best Part.

Know, Nature's Children All Divide Her Care, The Fur That Warms A Monarch Warmed A Bear.

The Blest To-day Is As Completely So, As Who Began A Thousand Years Ago.