Angels Are Bright Still, Though The Brightest

O Time, Thou Must Untangle This, Not I. It Is Too Hard A Knot For Me T'untie.

Would The Cook Were O' My Mind!

My Rage Is Gone, And I Am Struck With Sorrow. Take Him Up. Help, Three O' Th' Chiefest Soldiers; I'll Be One. Beat Thou The Drum, That It Speaks Mournfully, Trail Your Steel Spikes. Though In This City He Hath Widowed And Unchilded Many A One, Which To This Hour Bewail The Injury, Yet He Shall Have A Noble Memory. Assist.

I Feel Within Me A Peace Above All Earthly Dignities, A Still And Quiet Conscience.

O, She Misused Me Past The Endurance Of A Block.