Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of, His

I See Heaven's Glories Shine And Faith Shines Equal.

Shall Earth No More Inspire Thee, Thou Lonely Dreamer Now?

I Have Fled My Country And Gone To The Heather.

I Pray Every Night That I May Live After Him; Because I Would Rather Be Miserable Than That He Should Be — That Proves I Love Him Better Than Myself.

He'll Love And Hate Equally Under Cover, And Esteem It A Species Of Impertinence To Loved Or Hated Again.