Through Woods And Mountain Passes The Winds,

Sang In Tones Of Deep Emotion Songs Of Love And Songs Of Longing.

There Are Favorable Hours For Reading A Book, As For Writing It.

Take Them, O Death! And Bear Away Whatever Thou Canst Call Thine Own! Thine Image, Stamped Upon This Clay, Doth Give Thee That, But That Alone!

'twas Easter-sunday. The Full-blossomed Trees Filled All The Air With Fragrance And With Joy.

Each Morning Sees Some Task Begin, Each Evening Sees It Close.