ill
Govern and carry her to her ends, must know
His tides, his currents, how to shift his sails;
What she will bear in foul, what in fair weathers;
Where her springs are, her leaks, and how to stop 'em;
What strands, what shelves, what rooks do threaten her.
828
BEN JONSON: _Catiline,_ Act iii., Sc. 1.

For forms of government let fools contest,
Whate'er is best administer'd is best.
829
POPE: _Essay on Man,_ Epis. iii., Line 303.

=Grace.=

When once our grace we have forgot,
Nothing goes right.
830
SHAKS.: _M. for M.,_ Act iv., Sc. 4.

From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part,
And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.
831
POPE: _E. on Criticism,_ Pt. i., Line 152.

=Grandeur.=

Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the poor.
832
GRAY: _Elegy,_ St. 8.

=Gratitude.=

The still small voice of gratitude.
833
GRAY: _Ode for Music, Chorus,_ V., Line 8.

I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
With coldness still returning;
Alas! the gratitude of men
Hath oftener left me mourning.
834
WORDSWORTH: _Simon Lee._

=Grave.=

One destin'd period men in common have,
The great, the base, the coward, and the brave,
All food alike for worms, companions in the grave.
835
LANSDOWNE: _On Death._

The grave, dread thing!
Men shiver when thou 'rt named: Nature appall'd,
Shakes off her wonted firmness.
836
BLAIR: _The Grave,_ Line 9.

Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down,
Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,
With here and there a violet bestrewn,
Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring wave;
And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave!
837
BEATTIE: _The Minstrel,_ Bk. ii., St. 17.

=Greatness.=

I have touched the highest point of all my greatness.
838
SHAKS.: _Henry VIII.,_ Act iii., Sc. 2.

Rightly to be great,
Is, not to stir without great argument,
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw,
When honor's at the stake.
839
SHAKS.: _Hamlet,_ Act iv., Sc. 4.

Great hearts have largest room to bless the small;
Strong natures give the weaker home and rest.
840
LUCY LARCOM: _Sonnet, The Presence._

=Greece.=

Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth!
Immortal, though no more; though fallen, great!
841
BYRON: _Ch. Harold,_ Canto ii., St. 73.

Such is the aspect of this shore;
'T is Greece, but living Greece no more!
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,
We start, for soul is wanting there.
842
BYR