"Green sods are all their monument; and yet it tells A nobler history than pillared piles, Or the eternal pyramids."
"How awful is that hour when con, science stings."
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Source: James Gates Percival (1823). “Poems”, p.72
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"Roses bloom, and then they wither; Cheeks are bright, then fade and die; Shapes of light are wafted hither, Then, like visions, hurry by."
"The world is full of poetry. The air is living with its spirit; and the waves dance to the music of its melodies, and sparkle in its brightness."
"Our thoughts are boundless, though our frames are frail, Our souls immortal, though our limbs decay; Though darken'd in this poor life by a veil Of suffering, dying matter, we shall play In truth's eternal sunbeams; on the way To heaven's high capitol our cars shall roll; The temple of the Power whom all obey, That is the mark we tend to, for the soul Can take no lower flight, and seek no meaner goal."
"Night steals on; and the day takes its farewell, like the words of a departing friend, or the last tone of hallowed music in a minister's aisles, heard when it floats along the shade of elms, in the still place of graves."
"Thought can wing its way Swifter than lightning-flashes or the beam That hastens on the pinions of the morn."