A Man Is Ever Apt To Contemplate

Ah Me, But Where Are Now The Songs I Sang When Life Was Sweet Because You Call’d Them Sweet?

I Have A Room Whereinto No One Enters Save I Myself Alone: There Sits A Blessed Memory On A Throne, There My Life Centres.

Tread Softly! All The Earth Is Holy Ground.

Oh That It Were With Me As With The Flower; Blooming On Its Own Tree For Butterfly And Bee Its Summer Morns: That I Might Bloom Mine Hour A Rose In Spite Of Thorns. Oh That My Work Were Done As Birds' That Soar Rejoicing In The Sun: That When My Time Is Run And Daylight Too, I So Might Rest Once More Cool With Refreshing Dew.

Christmas Hath A Darkness; Brighter Than The Blazing Noon; Christmas Hath A Chillness Warmer Than The Heat Of June, Christmas Hath A Beauty Lovelier Than The World Can Show: For Christmas Bringeth Jesus, Brought For Us So Low