“Doubt swells and surges, with swelling doubt behind!My soul in storm is but a tattered sail,Streaming its ribbons on the torrent gale;In calm, 'tis but a limp and flapping thing:Oh! swell it with thy breath; make it a wing,To sweep through thee the ocean, with thee the windNor rest until in thee its haven it shall find.Roses are scentless, hopeless are the morns,Rest is but weakness, laughter crackling thorns,But love is life. To die of love is thenThe only pass to higher life than this.All love is death to loving, living men;All deaths are leaps across clefts to the abyss.Weakness needs pity, sometimes love's rebuke;Strength only sympathy deserves and draws -And grows by every faithful loving look.Ripeness must always come with loss of might.”

“But we believe – nay, Lord we only hope,That one day we shall thank thee perfectlyFor pain and hope and all that led or droveUs back into the bosom of thy love.”

“Love me, beloved; Hades and DeathShall vanish away like a frosty breath;These hands, that now are at home in thine,Shall clasp thee again, if thou art still mine;And thou shalt be mine, my spirit's bride,In the ceaseless flow of eternity's tide,If the truest love thy heart can knowMeet the truest love that from mine can flow.Pray God, beloved, for thee and me,That our sourls may be wedded eternally.”

“I saw thee ne'er before;I see thee never more;But love, and help, and pain, beautiful one,Have made thee mine, till all my years are done.”

“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and heightMy soul can reach, when feeling out of sightFor the ends of being and ideal grace.I love thee to the level of every day'sMost quiet need, by sun and candle-light.I love thee freely, as men strive for right.I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.I love thee with the passion put to useIn my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.I love thee with a love I seemed to loseWith my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,I shall but love thee better after death.”

“O, lack and doubt and fear can only comeBecause of plenty, confidence, and love!They are the shadow-forms about their feet,Because they are not perfect crystal-clearTo the all-searching sun in which they live.Dread of its loss is Beauty’s certain seal!”

“The man that feareth, Lord, to doubt,In that fear doubteth thee.”