O Faithful Conscience, Delicately Pure,

I Saw Within Its Depth How It Conceives All Things In A Single Volume Bound By Love Of Which The Universe Is The Scattered Leaves.

If Your World Isn't Right, The Cause Is In You.

At Grief So Deep The Tongue Must Wag In Vain; The Language Of Our Sense And Memory Lacks The Vocabulary Of Such Pain.

Stand Firm As The Tower That Never Shakes Its Top Whatever Wind May Blow.

...everything That Is, Desires To Be. As We Act, We Unfold Our Being. Enjoyment Naturally Follows, For A Thing Desired Always Brings Delight.