Reason Saw Not, Till Faith Sprung The

…so When The Last And Dreadful Hour This Crumbling Pageant Shall Devour, The Trumpet Shall Be Heard On High, The Dead Shall Live, The Living Die, And Music Shall Untune The Sky

To Take Up Half On Trust, And Half To Try, Name It Not Faith But Bungling Bigotry.

Her Wit Was More Than Man, Her Innocence A Child.

Uncertain Whose The Narrowest Span,--the Clown Unread, Or Half-read Gentleman.

Tomorrow Do Thy Worst, For I Have Lived Today: Be Fair Or Foul Or Rain Or Shine, The Joys I Have Possessed In Spite Of Fate Are Mine. Not Heaven Itself Upon The Past Has Power; But What Has Been Has Been, And I Have Had My Hour.