narchy amidst the noise
Of endless wars, and by confusion stand.
MILTON: Par. Lost, Bk. ii., Line 894.
The sap which at the root is bred
In trees, through all the boughs is spread;
But virtues which in parents shine
Make not like progress through the line.
WALLER: To Zelinda.
What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards?
Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards.
POPE: Essay on Man, Epis. iv., Line 215.
Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
POPE: E. on Criticism, Pt. iii., Line 66.
The angels come and go, the messengers of God.
R.H. STODDARD: Hymn to the Beautiful.
The good he scorn'd
Stalk'd off reluctant, like an ill-used ghost,
Not to return; or if it did, in visits
Like those of angels, short and far between.
BLAIR: The Grave, Pt. ii., Line 586.
Anger's my meat; I