The pencil moved prophetic: together now men read In the fair book of nature, and find the hope they need. The wreath woven by the river is by the seaside worn, And one of fate's best arrows to its due mark is borne.

With equal sweetness the commissioned hours Shed light and dew upon both weeds and flowers. The weeds unthankful raise their vile heads high, Flaunting back in…

There are who separate the eternal light In forms of man and woman, day and night; They cannot bear that God be essence quite.

Existence is as deep a verity: Without the dual, where is unity? And the 'I am'' cannot forbear to be; But from its primal nature forced to frame Mysteries, de…

We should therefore, with grace and optimism, embrace NOMA's tough-minded demand: Acknowledge the personal character of these human struggles about morals and …

When you're dancing the mystical dance of the molecules, you're not the one who's leading.

No one, of a surety, wanders farther from the mark than he who fancies to himself that he already understands this marvellous Kingdom, and can, in few words, f…