Talk Not Of Wasted Affection - Affection

The Leaves Of Memory Seemed To Make A Mournful Rustling In The Dark

Glorious Indeed Is The World Of God Around Us, But More Glorious The World Of God Within Us.

Some Must Follow And Some Command, Through All Are Made Oclay.

The Moon Is Hidden Behind A Cloud... On The Leaves Is A Sound Of Falling Rain... No Other Sounds Than These I Hear; The Hour Of Midnight Must Be Near... So Many Ghosts, And Forms Of Fright, Have Started From Their Graves To-night, They Have Driven Sleep From Mine Eyes Away: I Will Go Down To The Chapel And Pray.

We Often Excuse Our Own Want Of Philanthropy By Giving The Name Of Fanaticism To The More Ardent Zeal Of Others.