Love Is The Art Of Hearts, And

Blessings Star Forth Forever; But A Curse Is Like A Cloud, It Passes.

True Faith Nor Biddeth Nor Abideth Form, The Bended Knee, The Eye Uplift; Is All Which Men Need Render; All Which God Can Bear. What To The Faith Are Forms? A Passing Speck, A Crow Upon The Sky.

Respect Is What We Owe; Love, What We Give.

See The Gold Sunshine Patching, And Streaming And Streaking Across The Gray-green Oaks; And Catching, By Its Soft Brown Beard, The Moss.

Men Might Be Better If We Better Deemed Of Them.