The cares of today are seldom those of tomorrow, and when we lie down at night we may safely say to most of our troubles, “Ye have done your worst, and we shall see you no more.”
England with all thy faults, I love thee still– My country! and, while yet a nook is left Where English minds and manners may be found, Shall be constrained to love thee.
There is in souls a sympathy with sounds: And as the mind is pitch’d the ear is pleased With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave; Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touch’d within us, and the heart replies.
