Lord Alfred Tennyson

Our wills are ours, we know not how;
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.

Our wills are ours, we know not how;
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.

I heard . . .
. . . the great echo flap
And buffet round the hills read more

I heard . . .
. . . the great echo flap
And buffet round the hills from bluff to bluff.

Till last by Philip's farm I flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come and men may go,But I go read more

Till last by Philip's farm I flowTo join the brimming river,For men may come and men may go,But I go on for ever. - The Brook.

Happy he
With such a mother! faith in womankind
Beats with his blood, and trust in all read more

Happy he
With such a mother! faith in womankind
Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high
Comes easy to him, and though he trip and fall,
He shall not blind his soul with clay.

And wheresoe'er thou move, good luck
Shall fling her old shoe after.

And wheresoe'er thou move, good luck
Shall fling her old shoe after.