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To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the burden of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world

Is lightened; that serene and blessed mood,
In which the affections gently lead us on,
Until the breath of this corporeal frame,
And even the motion of our human blood,
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things.

WORDSWORTH.

If of our affections none find grace

In sight of heaven, then wherefore hath God made

The world which we inhabit? Better plea
Love cannot have than that, in loving thee,
Glory to that eternal peace is paid,
Who such divinity to thee imparts

As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts.
From the Italian of MICHAEL ANGELO.

Alas! our young affections run to waste, Or water but the desert.

BYRON.

Some gather round them a phalanx of friends,
Scattering affection like coin in a crowd;
I keep my heart for the few that Heaven sends,
Where they'll find their names writ when I
lie in my shroud.

MISS MULOCH.

[See also LOVE-FRIENDSHIP.]

AFFLICTION-(See ADVERSITY.)

AGE.

My way of life

Is fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf;
And that which should accompany old age,
As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have; but in their stead
Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth honor, breath
Which the poor heart would fain deny, but

dare not.

SHAKSPEARE.

But an old age serene and bright, And lovely as a Lapland night, Shall lead thee to thy grave.

WORDSWORTH.

Time has laid his hand

Upon my heart gently, not smiting it; But as a harper lays his open palm Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations. LONGFELLOW.

Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye. SHAKSPEARE.

With weary hand, yet steadfast will,
In old age as in youth,
Thy Master found thee sowing still
The good seed of his truth.

WHITTIER.

O not more sweet the tears Of the dewy eve on the violet shed, Than the dews of old age on the "hoary head," When it enters the eve of years.

"SONGS IN THE NIGHT."

Why weep ye then for him, who, having won
The bounds of man's appointed years, at last,
Life's blessings all enjoyed, life's labors done,
Serenely to his final rest has passed,
While the soft memory of his virtues yet
Lingers like twilight hues when the bright sun
is set?

BRYANT.

A time there is, when, like a thrice-told tale, Long rifled life of sweets can yield no more. YOUNG.

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