Every Cloud Has A Silver Lining.

All Seemed Well Pleased, All Seemed, But Were Not All.

With Cowslips Wan That Hang The Pensive Head, And Every Flower That Sad Embroidery Wears.

The Sacred Influence Of Light Appears.

Love Virtue, She Alone Is Free, She Can Teach Ye How To Climb Higher Than The Sphery Chime; Or, If Virtue Feeble Were, Heav'n Itself Would Stoop To Her.

God Doth Not Need Either Man's Work Or His Own Gifts. Who Best Bear His Mild Yoke, They Serve Him Best. His State Is Kingly: Thousands At His Bidding Speed, And Post O'er Land And Ocean Without Rest; They Also Serve Who Only Stand And Wait.