God Is The Perfect Poet.

I Am Grown Peaceful As Old Age Tonight.

A Face To Lose Youth For, To Occupy Age With The Dream Of, Meet Death With.

I Think, Am Sure, A Brother's Love Exceeds All The World's Loves In Its Unworldliness.

And Inasmuch As Feeling, The East's Gift, Is Quick And Transient,- Comes, And Lo! Is Gone, While Northern Thought Is Slow And Durable.

When Is Man Strong Until He Feels Alone?