Be Sure That God Ne'er Dooms To

The Only Fault's With Time; All Men Become Good Creatures: But So Slow!

A Minute Of Success Pays For Years Of Failure.

Thou Art My Single Day, God Lends To Leaven What Were All Earth Else, With A Feel Of Heaven.

For Thence A Paradox Which Comforts While It Mocks, - Shall Life Succeed In That It Seems To Fail: What I Aspired To Be, And Was Not, Comforts Me: A Brute I Might Have Been, But Would Not Sink I' The Scale.

Stung By The Splendour Of A Sudden Thought.