Every Man Has His Secret Sorrows.

Out Of The Shadows Of Night The World Rolls Into Light.

The Sunshine Fails, The Shadows Grow More Dreary, And I Am Near To Fall, Infirm And Weary.

O Little Souls! As Pure As White And Crystalline As Rays Of Light Direct From Heaven, Their Source Divine; Refracted Through The Mist Of Years, How Red My Setting Sun Appears, How Lurid Looks This Soul Of Mine!

I Love An Author The More For Having Been Himself A Lover Of Books.

Our Ingress Into The World Was Naked And Bare; Our Progress Through The World Is Trouble And Care.