Lingering he raised his latch at eve, Though tired in heart and limb: He loved no other place, and yet Home was no home to him. - Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Awake, my soul! not only passive praise Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, Mute thanks and secret ecstasy. Awake, Voice of sweet song! awake, my heart, awake! Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn.

It is a dull and obtuse mind, that must divide in order to distinguish; but it is a still worse, that distinguishes in order to divide. In the former, we may contemplate the source of superstition and idolatry; in the latter of schism, heresy, and a seditious and sectarian spirit.

To be loved is all I need,
And whom I love, I love indeed.