I Have Often Thought What A Melancholy

But Oh! Each Visitation Suspends What Nature Gave Me Any My Birth, My Shaping Spirit Of Imagination.

All Sympathy Not Consistent With Acknowledged Virtue Is But Disguised Selfishness.

Be That Blind Bard Who On The Chian Strand, By Those Deep Sounds Possessed With Inward Light, Beheld The Iliad And The Odyssey Rise To The Swelling Of The Voiceful Sea.

Above All Things I Entreat You To Preserve Your Faith In Christ. It Is My Wealth In Poverty, My Joy In Sorrow, My Peace Amid Tumult. For All The Evil I Have Committed, My Gracious Pardon; And For Every Effort, My Exceeding Great Reward. I Have Found It To Be So. I Can Smile With Pity At The Infidel Whose Vanity Makes Him Dream That I Should Barter Such A Blessing For The Few Subtleties From The School Of The Cold-blooded Sophists.

To Doubt Has More Of Faith ... Than That Blank Negation Of All Such Thoughts And Feelings Which Is The Lot Of The Herd Of Church-and-meeting Trotters.