Nothing Useless Is, Or Low; Each Thing

Yes, We Must Ever Be Friends; And Of All Who Offer You Friendship Let Me Be Ever The First, The Truest, The Nearest And Dearest.

What Shall I Say To You? What Can I Say Better Than Silence Is?

O Little Feet! That Such Long Years Must Wander On Through Hopes And Fears, Must Ache And Bleed Beneath Your Load; I, Nearer To The Wayside Inn Where Toil Shall Cease And Rest Begin, Am Weary, Thinking Of Your Road!

From Dust Thou Art To Dust Returneth, Was Not Spoken Of The Soul.

Work Is My Recreation, The Play Of Faculty; A Delight Like That Which A Bird Feels In Flying, Or A Fish In Darting Through The Water,--nothing More.