Like A Dart The Present

Time Is A Blooming Field: Nature Is Ever Teeming With Life: And All Is Seed, And All Is Fruit.

Even Now, Nature Is The Only Flame, On Which The Poetic Spirit Feeds; From It Alone It Draws All Its Power, To It Alone It Speaks Even In The Artificial, In The Man Engaged In Culture.

Revenge Is Barren Of Itself: It Is The Dreadful Food It Feeds On; Its Delight Is Murder, And Its End Is Despair.

To One, Science Is An Exalted Goddess; To Another It Is A Cow Which Provides Him With Butter.

Egotism Erects Its Center In Itself; Love Places It Out Of Itself In The Axis Of The Universal Whole. Love Aims At Unity, Egotism At Solitude. Love Is The Citizen Ruler Of A Flourishing Republic, Egotism Is A Despot In A Devastated Creation. Egotism Sows For Gratitude, Love For The Ungrateful. Love Gives, Egotism Lends; And Love Does This Before The Throne Of Judicial Truth, Indifferent If For The Enjoyment Of The Following Moment, Or With The View To A Martyr's Crown--indifferent Whether The Reward Is In This Life Or In The Next.