The sordor and filths of nature, the sun shall dry up, and the wind exhale. Full text online at Wikisource I think that our popular theology has gained in decorum, and not in principleover the superstitions it has displaced.
Each one is an entire emblem of human life; of its good and ill, its trials, its enemies, its course and its end. There is no power of expansion in men. All writing comes by the grace of God, and all doing and having.
Succession swift, and spectral Wrong, Temperament without a tongue, And the inventor of the game Omnipresent without name; — Some to see, some to be guessed, They marched from east to west: Little man, least of all, Among the legs of his guardians tall, Walked about with puzzled look: — Him by the hand dear nature took; Dearest nature, strong and kind, Whispered, 'Darling, never mind!
We would look about us, but with grand politeness he draws down before us an impenetrable screen of purest sky, and another behind us of purest sky.
Did our birth fall in some fit of indigence and frugality in nature, that she was so sparing of her fire and so liberal of her earth, that it appears to us that we lack the affirmative principle, and though we have health and reason, yet we have no superfluity of spirit for new creation?
But now we are a mob.