Words Are Easy, Like The

Give It An Understanding, But No Tongue.

What Must Be Shall Be.

The Little Dogs And All, Tray, Blanch, And Sweetheart-see, They Bark At Me.

Are You Up To Your Destiny?

So Holy And So Perfect Is My Love, And I In Such A Poverty Of Grace, That I Shall Think It A Most Plenteous Crop To Glean The Broken Ears After The Man That The Main Harvest Reaps.