And almost every one when age, Disease, or sorrows strike him, Inclines to think there is a God, Or something very like Him. - Arthur Hugh Clough

Hope conquers cowardice, joy grief;
Or at least, faith unbelief.

Truth is a golden thread, seen here and there
In small bright specks upon the visible side
Of our strange being’s party-coloured web.

Put forth thy leaf, thou lofty plane,
East wind and frost are safely gone;
With zephyr mild and balmy rain
The summer comes serenely on;
Earth, air, and sun and skies combine
To promise all that’s kind and fair:—
But thou, O human heart of mine,
Be still, contain thyself, and bear.