There Is Not A String Attuned To

I Love Thee - I Love Thee, 'tis All That I Can Say, It Is My Vision In The Night, My Dreaming In The Day.

Pity It Is To Slay The Meanest Thing.

O Men With Sisters Dear, O Men With Mothers And Wives, It Is Not Linen You 're Wearing Out, But Human Creatures' Lives!

Sweet Are The Little Brooks That Run O'er Pebbles Glancing In The Sun, Singing In Soothing Tones.

Boughs Are Daily Rifled By The Gusty Thieves, And The Book Of Nature Getteth Short Of Leaves.