Within That Awful Volume Lies The Mystery

Oh, On That Day, That Wrathful Day, When Man To Judgment Wakes Front Clay, Be Thou, O Christ, The Sinner's Stay, Though Heaven And Earth Shall Pass Away.

In Man's Most Dark Extremity Oft Succour Dawns From Heaven.

So Faithful In Love, And So Dauntless In War, There Never Was Knight Like Young Lochinvar.

Sleep The Sleep That Knows Not Breaking, Morn Of Toil, Nor Night Of Waking.

Nothing Is More Completely The Child Of Art Than A Garden.