He's Just, Your Cousin, Ay, Abhorrently, He'd

With Stammering Lips And Insufficient Sound I Strive And Struggle To Deliver Right The Music Of My Nature.

Behold Me! I Am Worthy Of Thy Loving, For I Love Thee!

When The Dust Of Death Has Choked A Great Man's Voice, The Common Words He Said Turn Oracles, The Common Thoughts He Yoked Like Horses Draw Like Griffins.

Women Know The Way To Rear Up Children (to Be Just). They Know A Simple, Merry, Tender Knack Of Tying Sashes, Fitting Baby-shoes, And Stringing Pretty Words That Make No Sense. And Kissing Full Sense Into Empty Words.

I Cannot Speak In Happy Tones; The Tear Drops On My Cheek Show I Am Sad; But I Can Speak Of Grace To Suffer With Submission Meek, Until Made Glad.