May The Good God Pardon

The Soul Hath Snatched Up Mine All Faint And Weak,and Placed It By Thee On A Golden Throne,-- And That I Love (o Soul, We Must Be Meek!)is By Thee Only, Whom I Love Alone.

Many A Fervid Man Writes Books As Cold And Flat As Graveyard Stones.

Suddenly, As Rare Things Will, It Vanished.

I Heard An Angel Speak Last Night/and He Said, "write!"

Silence Is The Best Response To A Fool.