.... To some kind of men Their graces serve them but as enemies. .... Your virtues, gentle Master, Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. AS YOU LIKE IT. Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting, The soul that rises with us, our Life’s star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar; Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home.--WORDSWORTH.…
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