It Is The Glory And Good Of

It Was Roses, Roses, All The Way, With Myrtle Mixed In My Path Like Mad.

For Sudden The Worst Turns The Best To The Brave, The Black Minute's At End, And The Elements' Rage, The Fiend Voices That Rave, Shall Dwindle, Shall Blend, Shall Change, Shall Become First A Peace Out Of Pain, Then A Light, Then Thy Breast, O Thou Soul Of My Soul! I Shall Clasp Thee Again, And With God Be The Rest!

It's Wiser Being Good Than Bad; It's Safer Being Meek Than Fierce: It's Fitter Being Sane Than Mad.

Oh, The Little More, And How Much It Is! And The Little Less, And What Worlds Away.

On The Earth The Broken Arcs; In The Heaven A Perfect Round.