And All Winds Go Sighing For Sweet

Gone Were But The Winter, Come Were But The Spring, I Would Go To A Covert Where The Birds Sing; Where In The Whitethorn Singeth A Thrush, And A Robin Sings In The Holly-bush. Full Of Fresh Scents Are The Budding Boughs Arching High Over A Cool Green House: Full Of Sweet Scents, And Whispering Air Which Sayeth Softly: We Spread No Snare; Here Dwell In Safety, Here Dwell Alone, With A Clear Stream And A Mossy Stone. Here The Sun Shineth Most Shadily; Here Is Heard An Echo Of The Far Sea, Though Far Off It Be.

I Believe Because I Am Told To Believe ... My Faith Is Faith; It Is Not Evolved Out Of Argumentation, Nor Does It Seek The Aid Of That.

All Earth's Full Rivers Can Not Fillthe Sea That Drinking Thirsteth Still.

Flowers Preach To Us If We Will Hear.

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