Gratitude, In Itself, Is Heaven.

The Woman That Does Not Love Your Frowns Will Never Embrace Your Smiles.

For The Eye Altering Alters All; The Senses Roll Themselves In Fear And The Flat Earth Becomes A Ball.

O White-robed Angel, Guide My Timorous Hand To Write As On A Lofty Rock With Iron Pen The Words Of Truth, That All Who Pass May Read.

Why Stand We Here Trembling Around, Calling On God For Help, And Not Ourselves, In Whom God Dwells?

Some Are Born To Sweet Delight, Some Are Born To Endless Night.