I Am Tired Of Looking On What

See The Sun! God's Crest Upon His Azure Shield, The Heavens.

Could I Love Less, I Should Be Happier Now.

Look On The Bee Upon The Wing 'mong Flowers; How Brave, How Bright His Life! Then Mark, Him Hiv'd, Cramp'd, Cringing In His Self-built, Social Cell, Thus It Is In The World-hive; Most Where Men Lie Deep In Cities As In Drifts.

We Must Not Pluck Death From The Maker's Hand.

Let Each Man Think Himself An Act Of God, His Mind A Thought, His Life A Breath Of God; And Let Each Try, By Great Thoughts And Good Deeds, To Show The Most Of Heaven He Hath In Him.