And These Are Joys, Like Beauty, But

True Faith Nor Biddeth Nor Abideth Form, The Bended Knee, The Eye Uplift; Is All Which Men Need Render; All Which God Can Bear. What To The Faith Are Forms? A Passing Speck, A Crow Upon The Sky.

Evil Then Results From Imperfection.

When Night Hath Set Her Silver Lamp High, Then Is The Time For Study.

Application Is The Price To Be Paid For Mental Acquisition. To Have The Harvest, We Must Sow The Seed.

The Death-change Comes. Death Is Another Life. We Bow Our Heads At Going Out, We Think, And Enter Straight Another Golden Chamber Of The King's Larger Than This We Leave, And Lovelier. And Then In Shadowy Glimpses, Disconnect, The Story, Flower-like, Closes Thus Its Leaves. The Will Of God Is All In All. He Makes, Destroys, Remakes, For His Own Pleasure, All.