“To all of us the thought of heaven is dear -Why not be sure of it and make it here?No doubt there is a heaven yonder too,But 'tis so far away - and you are near.Men talk of heaven, - there is no heaven but here;Men talk of hell, - there is no hell but here;Men of hereafters talk, and future lives,O love, there is no other life - but here.”

“To all of us the thought of heaven is dear ---Why not be sure of it and make it here?No doubt there is a heaven yonder too, But 'tis so far away --- and you are near.”

“Some say we came God's purpose to fulfil -Faith a poor purpose then, if so you will;Sport for the heavenly huntsmen, others say, -Sorry the sport, methinks, and poor the skill.”

“What long-dead face makes here the grass so green?On what earth-buried bosom do we lean?Ah! love, when we in turn are grass and flowers,By what kind eyes to come shall we be seen?”

“Like to a maid who exquisitely turnsA promising face to him who, waiting, burnsIn hell to hear her answer - so the worldTricks all, and hints what no man ever learns.”

“Into this life of cruel wonder sent,Without a word to tell us what it meant,Sent back again without a reason why -Birth, life, and death - 'twas all astonishment.”

“A critic is a man created to praise greater men than himself, but he is never able to find them.”