Life Treads On Life, And Heart On

Where Christ Brings His Cross He Brings His Presence; And Where He Is None Are Desolate, And There Is No Room For Despair.

I Love Thee With The Passion Put To Use In My Old Griefs, And With My Childhood's Faith. I Love Thee With A Love I Seemed To Lose With My Lost Saints,-i Love Thee With The Breath, Smiles, Tears, Of All My Life!-and, If God Choose, I Shall But Love Thee Better After Death.

Of All The Thoughts Of God That Are Borne Inward Unto Souls Afar, Along The Psalmist's Music Deep, Now Tell Me If That Any Is. For Gift Or Grace, Surpassing This-- He Giveth His Beloved Sleep.

What I Do And What I Dream Include Thee, As The Wine Must Taste Of Its Own Grapes.

Tis Aye A Solemn Thing To Me To Look Upon A Babe That Sleeps-- Wearing In Its Spirit-deeps The Unrevealed Mystery Of Its Adam's Taint And Woe, Which, When They Revealed Lie, Will Not Let It Slumber So.