“Within a bony labrinthean cave, Reached by the pulse of the aerial wave, This sibyl, sweet, and Mystic Sense is found, Muse, that presides o’er all the Powers of Sound.”

Death separates, but it also unites. It reunites whom it separates.

Where our fathers in fight, nobly strove for the Right, Struck down their fierce foemen or put them to flight

Words are freeborn, and not the vassals of the gruff tyrants of prose to do their bidding only. They have the same right to dance and sing as the dewdrops have to sparkle and the stars to shine.

Let us not doubt that God has a father’s pity towards us, and that in the removal of that which is dearest to us He is still loving and kind.

Poetry is unfallen speech. Paradise knew no other, for no other would suffice to answer the need of those ecstatic days of innocence.

O most illustrious of the days of time! Day full of joy and benison to earth When Thou wast born, sweet Babe of Bethlehem!

He dares confront the time, And speak the truth, and give the world no rest No kingly threat can cowardize his breath, He with majestic step goes forth to meet his death.

No counter proof can equal the force of that drawn from His attributes. It is an indecency and a calumny to impute to Christ conduct which requires apology.

Eternity! How know we but we stand On the precipitous and crumbling verge Of Time e’en now, Eternity below?

The grave, where sets the orb of being, sets To rise, ascend, and culminate above Eternity’s horizon evermore.

Thee, Son Beloved! of plural Unity Essential part, made flesh that mad’st all worlds.

O loving woman, man’s fulfillment, sweet, Completing him not otherwise complete! How void and useless the sad remnant left Were he of her, his nobler part, bereft.

When hands clasped hands, and lips to lips were pressed, And the heart’s secret was at once confessed?

O, beautiful and grand, My own, my native land! Of thee I boast: Great empire of the west, The dearest and the best, Made up of all the rest, I love thee most.

Much of our ignorance is of ourselves. Our eyes are full of dust. Prejudice blinds us.

On eyes that watch as well as eyes that weep Descends the solemn mystery of sleep, Toiling and climbing to the very close

They were soon to emigrate to Canada, and the aerial ride was meant to be a last view of their beloved England.