Faith Slips - And Laughs, And Rallies

Opinion Is A Flitting Thing But Truth Outlasts The Sun.

The Heart Is The Capital Of The Mind— The Mind Is A Single State— The Heart And The Mind Together Make A Single Continent— One—is The Population— Numerous Enough— This Ecstatic Nation Seek—it Is Yourself.

After Great Pain, A Formal Feeling Comes. The Nerves Sit Ceremonious, Like Tombs.

Love Is Its Own Rescue; For We, At Our Supremest, Are But Its Trembling Emblems.

Two Seasons, It Is Said, Exist- The Summer Of The Just, And This Of Ours, Diversified With Prospect, And With Frost- May Not Our Second With Its First So Infinite Compare That We But Recollect The One The Other To Prefer?