The Smoking Flax Before It Burst To

Down Sank The Great Red Sun, And In Golden, Glimmering Vapors Veiled The Light Of His Face, Like The Prophet Descending From Sinai.

Some Feelings Are Quite Untranslatable; No Language Has Yet Been Found For Them. They Gleam Upon Us Beautifully Through The Dim Twilight Of Fancy, And Yet When We Bring Them Close To Us, And Hold Them Up To The Light Of Reason, Lose Their Beauty All At Once, As Glow Worms Which Gleam With Such A Spiritual Light In The Shadows Of Evening, When Brought In Where The Candles Are Lighted, Are Found To Be Only Worms Like So Many Others.

The Little I Have Seen Of The World Teaches Me To Look Upon The Errors Of Others In Sorrow, Not In Anger. When I Take The History Of One Poor Heart That Has Sinned And Suffered, And Represent To Myself The Struggles And Temptations It Has Passed Through, The Brief Pulsations Of Joy, The Feverish Inquietude Of Hope And Fear, The Pressure Of Want, The Desertion Of Friends, I Would Fain Leave The Erring Soul Of My Fellow-man With Him From Whose Hand It Came.

It Was A High Counsel That I Once Heard Given To A Young Person, - Always Do What You Are Afraid To Do.

There Is No Death! What Seems So Is Transition; This Life Of Mortal Breath Is But A Suburb Of The Life Elysian, Whose Portal We Call Death.