What Men Call Accident Is God's Own

Burn To Be Great, Pay Not Thy Praise To Lofty Things Alone. The Plains Are Everlasting As The Hills, The Bard Cannot Have Two Pursuits; Aught Else Comes On The Mind With The Like Shock As Though Two Worlds Had Gone To War, And Met In Air.

Corruption Springs From Light: 'tis One Same Power Creates, Preserves, Destroys; Matter Whereon It Works, On E'er Self-transmutative Form, Common To Now The Living, Now The Dead.

Doubt Is The Shadow Of Truth.

Not A Single Path Of Thought I Tread, But That It Leads To God.

America, Thou Half-brother Of The World; With Something Good And Bad Of Every Land.