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'Tis not to see the world As from a height, with rapt prophetic eyes, And heart profoundly stirred; And weep, and feel the fullness of the past, The years that are not more.
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With aching hands and bleeding feet We dig and heap, lay stone on stone; We bear the burden and the heat Of the long day, and wish 'twere done. Not till the hours of light return All we have built as we discern.
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The pursuit of perfection, then, is the pursuit of sweetness and light.
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The true meaning of religion is thus not simply morality, but morality touched by emotion.
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The sea is calm to-night. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits;—
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