
Sleeping at Last http://classiclit.about.com/library/bl-etexts/crossetti/bl-crossetti-sleep.htm, st. 1 (1893) .
"For Annie", st. 1 (1849).
Sleeping at Last http://classiclit.about.com/library/bl-etexts/crossetti/bl-crossetti-sleep.htm, st. 1 (1893) .
“Love will conquer at the last.”
Source: Locksley Hall Sixty Years After (1886), Line 280
“Dear Friends, for we have many Dangers past,
And greater, God these too will end at last.”
The Works of Publius Virgilius Maro (2nd ed. 1654), Virgil's Æneis
“Free at last, Free at last, Thank God almighty we are free at last.”
1960s, I Have A Dream (1963)
Source: I Have a Dream: Writings and Speeches That Changed the World
Context: When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"
The Crisis No. IV.
1770s, The American Crisis (1776–1783)
Context: There is a mystery in the countenance of some causes, which we have not always present judgment enough to explain. It is distressing to see an enemy advancing into a country, but it is the only place in which we can beat them, and in which we have always beaten them, whenever they made the attempt. The nearer any disease approaches to a crisis, the nearer it is to a cure. Danger and deliverance make their advances together, and it is only the last push, in which one or the other takes the lead.
“To those who live and toil and lowly die,
Who past beyond and leave no lasting trace”
Dedication
Casuals of the Sea (1916)
Context: To those who live and toil and lowly die,
Who past beyond and leave no lasting trace,
To those from whom our queen Prosperity
Has turned away her fair and fickle face;
To those frail craft upon the restless Sea
Of Human Life, who strike the rocks uncharted,
Who loom, sad phantoms, near us, drearily,
Storm-driven, rudderless, with timbers started;
To those poor Casuals of the way-worn earth,
The feckless wastage of our cunning schemes,
This book is dedicate, their hidden worth
And beauty I have seen in vagrant dreams!
The things we touch, the things we dimly see,
The stiff strange tapestries of human thought,
The silken curtains of our fantasy
Are with their sombre histories o'erwrought.
And yet we know them not, our skill is vain to find
The mute soul's agony, the visions of the blind.