But Since He Had The Genius To

This Race Is Never Grateful: From The First, One Fills Their Cup At Supper With Pure Wine, Which Back They Give At Cross-time On A Sponge, In Bitter Vinegar.

My Future Will Not Copy My Fair Past, I Wrote That Once. And, Thinking At My Side My Ministering Life-angel Justified The Word By His Appealing Look Upcast To The White Throne Of God.

We Have Hearts Within, Warm, Live, Improvident, Indecent Hearts.

What I Do And What I Dream Include Thee, As The Wine Must Taste Of Its Own Grapes.

No Man Can Be Called Friendless Who Has God And The Companionship Of Good Books.