Death But Supplies The Oil For The

The Intelligible Forms Of Ancient Poets, The Fair Humanities Of Old Religion, The Power, The Beauty, And The Majesty That Had Their Haunts In Dale Or Piny Mountain, Or Forest By Slow Stream, Or Pebbly Spring, Or Chasms And Watery Depths, All These Have Vanished; They Live No Longer In The Faith Of Reason.

Mr. Lyell's System Of Geology Is Just Half The Truth, And No More. He Affirms A Great Deal That Is True, And He Denies A Great Deal Which Is Equally True; Which Is The General Characteristic Of All Systems Not Embracing The Whole Truth.

You May Depend Upon It, Religion Is, In Its Essence, The Most Gentlemanly Thing In The World. It Will Alone Gentilize, If Unmixed With Cant; And I Know Nothing Else That Will, Alone. Certainly Not The Army, Which Is Thought To Be The Grand Embellisher Of Manners.

A Noise Like Of A Hidden Brook In The Leafy Month Of June, That To The Sleeping Woods All Night Singeth A Quiet Tune.

The Form Of Truth Will Bear Exposure, As Well As That Of Beauty Herself.