So Instead Of Getting To Heaven, At

To See Her Is A Picture- To Hear Her Is A Tune- To Know Her An Intemperance As Innocent As June- To Know Her Not-affliction- To Own Her For A Friend A Warmth As Near As If The The Sun Were Shining In Your Hand.

Afraid? Of Whom Am I Afraid? Not Death. For Who Is He?

The Soul Selects Her Own Society, Then Shuts The Door; On Her Divine Majority Obtrude No More.

Find Ecstasy In Life; The Mere Sense Of Living Is Joy Enough.

The Brain Is Wider Than The Sky, For, Put Them Side By Side, The One The Other Will Include With Ease, And You Beside.