The Plague Of Gold Strikes Far And

If We Tried To Sink The Past Beneath Our Feet, Be Sure The Future Would Not Stand.

But Love Me For Love's Sake, That Evermore Thou May'st Love On, Through Love's Eternity.

God Keeps A Niche In Heaven, To Hold Our Idols; And Albeit He Brake Them To Our Faces, And Denied That Our Close Kisses Should Impair Their White,-- I Know We Shall Behold Them Raised, Complete, The Dust Swept From Their Beauty, Glorified, New Memnons Singing In The Great God-light.

I Tell You, Hopeless Grief Is Passionless.

The Devil's Most Devilish When Respectable.