When Night Hath Set Her Silver Lamp

See The Sun! God's Crest Upon His Azure Shield, The Heavens.

Obey Thy Genius, For A Minister It Is Unto The Throne Of Fate. Draw To Thy Soul, And Centralize The Rays Which Are Around Of The Divinity.

The Poet's Pen Is The True Divining Rod Which Trembles Towards The Inner Founts Of Feeling; Bringing To Light And Use, Else Hid From All, The Many Sweet Clear Sources Which We Have Of Good And Beauty In Our Own Deep Bosoms; And Marks The Variations Of All Mind As Does The Needle.

There Is No Disappointment We Endure One-half So Great As What We Are To Ourselves.

As The Master So The Valet.