Onward onward! must we travel?

Let me slumber in the hollow where the wattle blossoms wave, With never stone or rail to fence my bed; Should the sturdy station children pull the bush flowers on my grave, I may chance to hear them romping overhead.

Question not, but live and labour Till yon goal be won, Helping every feeble neighbour, Seeking help from none; Life is mostly froth and bubble; Two things stand like stone,

He never gave me a chance to speak, And he call’d her—worse than a dog— The girl stood up with a crimson cheek, And I fell’d him there like a log.I can feel the blow on my knuckles yet— He feels it more on his brow. In a thousand years we …

Hamlet most brings home to us at once the sense of the soul's infinity, and the sense of the doom which not only circumscribes that infinity but appears to be its offspring.

You cannot dictate to any man what shall be his morality or his own religion. He must make his own choice. Your attempts to impose total sexual abstinence on him he regards as a meddlesome and impertinent interference with the expression …

And so we shake The snowy flake From cedar and myrtle fair; And the boughs that nod On the hills of God, We raise to his glory there.