Thou hast made us for thyself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it finds its rest in thee.
ConfessionsOh deep winter snow, pale executioner, thou who delights in a slow, torturous death.
The Falconer and The WolfThou art my single day, God lends to leaven What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.
Robert BrowningThe untold want, by life and land ne'er granted, Now, Voyager, sail thou forth, to seek and find.
Leaves of Grass