He Guides Me And The Bird. In

Oh, To Be In England Now That April's There, And Whoever Wakes In England Sees, Some Morning, Unaware.

Earth Being So Good, Would Heaven Seem Best?

God Is The Perfect Poet, Who In His Person Acts His Own Creations.

The Body Sprang At Once To The Height, And Stayed; But The Soul,-no!

I Was Made And Meant To Look For You And Wait For You And Become Yours Forever.