For His Heart Was In His Work,

The Things That Have Been And Shall Be No More, The Things That Are, And That Hereafter Shall Be, The Things That Might Have Been, And Yet Were Not, The Fading Twilight Of Joys Departed.

The Nimble Lie Is Like The Second-hand Upon A Clock; We See It Fly; While The Hour-hand Of Truth Seems To Stand Still, And Yet It Moves Unseen, And Wins, At Last, For The Clock Will Not Strike Till It Has Reached The Goal.

For Next To Being A Great Poet Is The Power Of Understanding One.

And In The Wreck Of Noble Lives Something Immortal Still Survives.

The Soul...is Audible, Not Visible.