And out of good still to find means of evil. Paradise Lost, Bk.  I.  MILTON.

But evil is wrought by want of thought,
As well as want of heart!
The Lady’s Dream.  T. HOOD.

Timely advised, the coming evil shun: 
Better not do the deed, than weep it done.
Henry and Emma.  M. PRIOR.

SINCERITY.

                  Men should be what they seem;
  Or those that be not, would they might seem none!
Othello, Act iii.  Sc. 3.  SHAKESPEARE.

O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
Sonnet LIV.  SHAKESPEARE.

O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil. King Henry IV.  Pt.  I. Act iii.  Sc. 1.  SHAKESPEARE.

  His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles,
  His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate,
  His tears pure messengers sent from his heart,
  His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.
Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act ii.  Sc. 7.  SHAKESPEARE.

An honest tale speeds best being plainly told. King Richard III., Act iv.  Sc. 4.  SHAKESPEARE.

  Were there no heaven nor hell
  I should be honest.
Duchess of Malfi, Act i.  Sc. 1.  J. WEBSTER.

SKY.

One of those heavenly days that cannot die. Nutting.  W. WORDSWORTH.

Green calm below, blue quietness above. The Pennsylvania Pilgrim J.G.  WHITTIER.

  The soft blue sky did never melt
  Into his heart; he never felt
  The witchery of the soft blue sky!
Peter Bell.  W. WORDSWORTH.

But now the fair traveller’s come to the west,
His rays are all gold, and his beauties are best;
He paints the skies gay as he sinks to his rest,
And foretells a bright rising again.
A Summer Evening.  DR. I. WATTS.

How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky
The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!
Written in a Volume of Shakespeare.  T. HOOD.

Of evening tinct,
The purple-streaming Amethyst is thine.
Seasons:  Summer.  J. THOMSON.

Heaven’s ebon vault,
Studded with stars unutterably bright,
Through which the moon’s unclouded grandeur rolls,
Seems like a canopy which love has spread
To curtain her sleeping world.
Queen Mab, Pt.  IV.  P.B.  SHELLEY.

This majestical roof fretted with golden fire. Hamlet, Act ii.  Sc. 2.  SHAKESPEARE.

SLEEP.

  Tired nature’s sweet restorer, balmy Sleep! 
  He, like the world, his ready visit pays
  Where fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes: 
  Swift on his downy pinions flies from woe,
  And lights on lids unsullied with a tear.
Night Thoughts, Night I.  DR. E. YOUNG.