God Only, Who Made Us Rich, Can

Think, In Mounting Higher, The Angels Would Press On Us, And Aspire To Drop Some Golden Orb Of Perfect Song Into Our Deep, Dear Silence.

Whatever's Lost, It First Was Won.

Pray, Pray, Thou Who Also Weepest,-- And The Drops Will Slacken So; Weep, Weep--and The Watch Thou Keepest, With A Quicker Count Will Go. Think,--the Shadow On The Dial For The Nature Most Undone, Marks The Passing Of The Trial, Proves The Presence Of The Sun.

Love Me Sweet With All Thou Art Feeling, Thinking, Seeing; Love Me In The Lightest Part, Love Me In Full Being.

If We Tried To Sink The Past Beneath Our Feet, Be Sure The Future Would Not Stand.