Life and Existence

End of the wonderful one-hoss shay. Logic is logic. That’s all I say.

 

And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree In the spring, Let them smile, as I do now, At the old forsaken bough Where I cling.

 

Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay, That was built in such a logical way It ran a hundred years to a day?

 

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll! Leave thy low-vaulted past!

 

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll! Leave thy low-vaulted past!

 

There is no time like the old time, when you and I were young.

 

By many a temple half as old as Time.

 

Who reflects too much will accomplish little.

 

The mountain cannot frighten one who was born on it.

 

There’s no such thing as chance; And what to us seems merest accident Springs from the deepest source of destiny.

 

If you want to know yourself, Just look how others do it; If you want to understand others, Look into your own heart.

 

Great souls suffer in silence.

 

O who knows what slumbers in the background of the times?

 

O who knows what slumbers in the background of the times?

 

What one refuses in a minute No eternity will return.

 

There are three lessons I would write, Three words as with a burning pen, In tracings of eternal light Upon the hearts of men.

 

a fruitless enterprise, a great mistake, a decrepit frenzy, and rightly viewed, a corpse, some dust, a shadow, mere nothingness.

 

Teach us, good Lord, to serve Thee as Thou deservest: To give and not to count the cost; To fight and not to heed the wounds; To toil and not to seek for rest; To labor and not ask for any reward Save that of knowing that we do Thy will.

 

Yisterday fair up sprang the flouris, This day thai are all slane with schouris; And fowles in forrest that sang cleir Now walkis with a drery cheir; Full caild are baith thair beddis and bouris.

 

Our plesance here is all vain glory, This false world is but transitory.

 

Our plesance here is all vain glory, This false world is but transitory.

 

I that in heill wes and gladnes Am trublit now with gret seiknes And feblit with infermite: Timor Mortis conturbat me. 1

 

Love is he, radiant with great splendor, And speaks to us of Thee, O Most High.

 

Kingdoms are but cares, State is devoid of stay; Riches are ready snares, And hasten to decay.