Fragments

In many brilliant colours Falsehood's decked,Its churches with vast multitudes are packed;But Truth's white light shines ever bright and clearThough at its shrine few worshippers appear.

What is life's saddest tragedy? I thinkIt is the sinking of a noble spirit,Full of high thoughts and generous aspirations,To the low level of the life about him.

We go from one illusion to another,And wander in a maze of endless windings;This path, we say, leads to the goal at last,The goal which we so long have sought in vain for;But 'tis but one more passage leading nowhere:And when our Mecca comes at last in sightWe fall exhausted by the journey's hardships.

The happiest fortune that a man can greetBut transient pleasure to his soul doth yield:The worst of ills 'tis possible to meetCalmly, and find in fortitude a shield.