Wel ought a prest ensample for to yive,
By his clennesse, how that his sheep shulde lyve.

* * * * *

To draw folk to heven by fairnesse
By good ensample, this was his busynesse.
Canterbury Tales:  Prologue.  CHAUCER.

                  Of right and wrong he taught
  Truths as refined as ever Athens heard;
  And (strange to tell!) he practised what he preached.
Art of Preserving Health J. ARMSTRONG.

CLOUD.

By unseen hands uplifted in the light
Of sunset, yonder solitary cloud
Floats, with its white apparel blown abroad,
And wafted up to heaven.
Michael Angelo, Pt.  II.  H.W.  LONGFELLOW.

                  Yonder cloud
  That rises upward always higher,
  And onward drags a laboring breast. 
  And topples round the dreary west,
  A looming bastion fringed with fire.
In Memoriam, XV.  A. TENNYSON.

The Clouds consign their treasures to the fields,
And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool,
Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow
In large effusion, o’er the freshened world.
The Seasons:  Spring.  J. THOMSON.

                                         A step,
  A single step, that freed me from the skirts
  Of the blind vapor, opened to my view
  Glory beyond all glory ever seen
  By waking sense or by the dreaming soul! 
  The appearance, instantaneously disclosed
  Was of a mighty city,—­boldly say
  A wilderness of building, sinking far
  And self-withdrawn into a boundless depth,
  Far sinking into splendor,—­without end! 
  Fabric it seemed of diamond and of gold,
  With alabaster domes, and silver spires,
  And blazing terrace upon terrace, high
  Uplifted; here, serene pavilions bright,
  In avenues disposed; there, towers begirt
  With battlements that on their restless fronts
  Bore stars,—­illumination of all gems!
The Excursion, Bk.  II.  W. WORDSWORTH.

  See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft
  So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away
  Over the snowy peaks!
Christus:  The Golden Legend.  H.W.  LONGFELLOW.

COMFORT.

Dear little head, that lies in calm content
Within the gracious hollow that God made
In every human shoulder, where He meant
Some tired head for comfort should be laid.
Song.  C. THAXTER.

                                       Men
  Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief
  Which they themselves not feel.
Much Ado About Nothing, Act v.  Sc. 1.  SHAKESPEARE.

“What is good for a bootless bene?”
With these dark words begins my tale;
And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring
When Prayer is of no avail?
Force of Prayer.  W. WORDSWORTH.