The Things That Mount The Rostrum With

A Heretic, My Dear Sir, Is A Fellow Who Disagrees With You Regarding Something Neither Of You Knows Anything About.

Perhaps Thou Gav'st Me, Though Unseen, A Kiss; Perhaps A Tear, If Souls Can Weep In Bliss.

Philologists, Who Chase A Painting Syllable Through Time And Space Start It At Home, And Hunt It In The Dark, To Gaul, To Greece, And Into Noah's Ark.

The Parable Of The Prodigal Son, The Most Beautiful Fiction That Ever Was Invented; Our Saviour's Speech To His Disciples, With Which He Closed His Earthly Ministrations, Full Of The Sublimest Dignity And Tenderest Affection, Surpass Everything That I Ever Read; And Like The Spirit By Which They Were Dictated, Fly Directly To The Heart.

Alas! If My Best Friend, Who Laid Down His Life For Me, Were To Remember All The Instances In Which I Have Neglected Him, And To Plead Them Against Me In Judgment, Where Should I Hide My Guilty Head In The Day Of Recompense? I Will Pray, Therefore, For Blessings On My Friends, Even Though They Cease To Be So, And Upon My Enemies, Though They Continue Such.