If A Faultless Poem Could Be Produced,

O Woman! In Our Hours Of Ease Uncertain, Coy, And Hard To Please, And Variable As The Shade By The Light Quivering Aspen Made; When Pain And Anguish Wring The Brow, A Ministering Angel Thou!

Tears Are The Softening Showers Which Cause The Seed Of Heaven To Spring Up In The Human Heart.

When Israel, Of The Lord Belov'd, Out Of The Land Of Bondage Came, Her Fathers' God Before Her Mov'd, An Awful Guide In Smoke And Flame.

Is Death The Last Sleep? No, It Is The Last And Final Awakening.

If A Farmer Fills His Barn With Grain, He Gets Mice. If He Leaves It Empty, He Gets Actors.