Suddenly, As Rare Things Will,

What We Call Life Is A Condition Of The Soul. And The Soul Must Improve In Happiness And Wisdom, Except By Its Own Fault. These Tears In Our Eyes, These Faintings Of The Flesh, Will Not Hinder Such Improvement.

I Love Thee Freely, As Men Strive For Right. I Love Thee Purely, As They Turn From Praise. I Love Thee With The Passion Put To Use

Pray, Pray, Thou Who Also Weepest,-- And The Drops Will Slacken So; Weep, Weep--and The Watch Thou Keepest, With A Quicker Count Will Go. Think,--the Shadow On The Dial For The Nature Most Undone, Marks The Passing Of The Trial, Proves The Presence Of The Sun.

Beloved, Let Us Live So Well Our Work Shall Still Be Better For Our Love, And Still Our Love Be Sweeter For Our Work.

Books Are Men Of Higher Stature, And The Only Men That Speak Aloud For Future Times To Hear.