Great minds, like Heaven, are pleased in doing _good_, Though the ungrateful subjects of their favours Are barren in return. _Rowe._ Then to be _good_, is to be happy: angels Are happier than mankind, because they’re better. _Rowe._ Take well whate’er shall chance, though bad it be, Take it for _good_, and ’twill be _good_ to thee. _Randolph._ _Good_, the more Communicated, more abundant grows; The author not impaired, but honoured more. _Milton._ Look round the world, behold the chain of love Combining all below, and all above; See plastic nature working to this end, The single atoms each to other tend, Attract, attracted to the next in place, Formed and impelled its neighbour to embrace; See matter next, with various life endued, Press to one centre, still the general _good_. _Young._ A _good_ man and an angel! These between How thin the barrier? What divides their fate? Perhaps a moment, or perhaps a year; Or if an age, it is a moment still, A moment, or eternity’s forgot. _Young._ Who never felt the impatient throb-- The longing of a heart that pants And reaches after distant _good_. _Cowper._ Sure the last end Of the _good_ man is peace!--how calm his exit! Night-dews fall not more gently to the ground, Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft! _Blair._ The _good_ are better made by ill, As odours crushed, are better still. _Rogers._ As flowers which night, when day is o’er, perfume, Breathes the sweet memory from a _good_ man’s tomb. _Sir E. B. Lytton._ When to the common rest that crowns our days, Called in the noon of life, the _good_ man goes, Or full of years, or ripe in wisdom, lays His silver temples in their last repose; When, o’er the buds of youth, the death-wind blows, And blights the fairest; when our bitterest tears Stream, as the eyes of those that love us close, We think on what they were, with many fears Lest _goodness_ die with them, and leave the coming years. _W. C. Bryant._ Give credit to thy mortal brother’s heart For all the _good_ that in thine own hath part. _Mrs. Norton._