Some Poems Are Like The Centaurs--a Mingling

To-day, To-morrow, Every Day, To Thousands The End Of The World Is Close At Hand. And Why Should We Fear It? We Walk Here, As It Were, In The Crypts Of Life; At Times, From The Great Cathedral Above Us, We Can Hear The Organ And The Chanting Choir; We See The Light Stream Through The Open Door, When Some Friend Goes Up Before Us; And Shall We Fear To Mount The Narrow Staircase Of The Grave That Leads Us Out Of This Uncertain Twilight Into Life Eternal?

Evil Is Only Good Perverted.

Tis Always Morning Somewhere.

My Book And Heart Shall Never Part.

Art Is The Gift Of God, And Must Be Used Unto His Glory.