A woman who, disliked by her husband, was living with her parents, wanted to see her son on his first boys' festival day But she could not do so during the day, because too many people would have seen her:
Sent away, I look at the banner above the gate during the night

A senseless school, where we must give
Our lives that we may learn to live!
A dolt is he who memorizes
Lessons that leave no time for prizes.

16 W.P.V., 1866

1. Send forth, O God, thy light and truth, And let them lead me still,
2. O why, my soul, art thou cast down? Within me why distressed?
Undaunted, in the paths of right, Up to thy holy hill.
Thy hopes the God of grace shall crown; He yet shall make thee blessed.
Then to thy altar will I spring, And in my God rejoice;
To him, my neverfailing Friend, I bow, and kiss the rod;
And praise shall tune the trembling string, And gratitude my voice.
To him shall thanks and praise ascend, My Saviour and my God.

" SEEING is believing,"
I've often heard you say.
My dear Sir Henry Ferrett,
I see you every day.

See where my Love a-maying goes,
With sweet dame Flora sporting!
She most alone with nightingales
In woods delights consorting.
Turn again, my dearest!
The pleasant'st air 's in meadows:
Else by the rivers let us breathe,
And kiss amongst the willows.

See on one hand
He drops his bright roots in the water'd sward,
And rosing part, on part dispenses green;
But with his other foot three miles beyond
He rises from the flocks of villages
That bead the plain; did ever Havering church-tower
Breathe in such ether? or the Quickly elms
Mask'd with such violet disallow their green?

See here an easie Feast that knowes no wound,
That under Hungers Teeth will needs be sound:
A subtle Harvest of unbounded bread,
What would ye more? Here food it selfe is fed.

See a pin and pick it up,
All the day you'll have good luck;
See a pin and let it lay,
Bad luck you will have all day.

Seal up the book, all vision's at an end,
For who durst now to poetry pretend?
Since Pope is dead, it must be sure confessed
The Muse's sacred inspiration's ceased;
And we may only what is writ rehearse:
His works are the apocalypse of verse.

Science in God, is known to be
A Substance, not a Qualitie.