Blest Are The Pure In Heart, For

The Deeds We Do, The Words We Say,into Still Air They Seem To Fleet;we Count Them Ever Past;but They Shall Last -in The Dread Judgment Theyand We Shall Meet.

For As Fire Is Kindled By Fire, So Is A Poet's Mind Kindled By Contact With A Brother Poet.

Sweet Is The Smile Of Home; The Mutual Look When Hearts Are Of Each Other Sure.

Soft As Memnon's Harp At Morning, To The Inward Ear Devout, Touched By Light, With Heavenly Warning Your Transporting Chords Ring Out. Every Leaf In Every Nook, Every Wave In Every Brook, Chanting With A Solemn Voice Minds Us Of Our Better Choice.

Blest Are The Pure In Heart, For They Shall See Our God. The Secret Of The Lord Is Theirs; Their Soul Is Christ's Abode.