His Heart Kep' Goin' Pity-pat, But Hern

O Chime Of Sweet Saint Charity, Peal Soon That Easter Morn When Christ For All Shall Risen Be, And In All Hearts New-born! That Pentecost When Utterance Clear To All Men Shall Be Given, When All Shall Say My Brother Here, And Hear My Son In Heaven!

Freedom Is The Only Law Which Genius Knows.

Fate Loves Best Such Syllables As Are Sweet And Sonorous On The Tongue.

The Material Of Thought Re-acts Upon The Thought Itself.

Not Only Around Our Infancy Doth Heaven With All Its Splendors Lie; Daily, With Souls That Cringe And Plot, We Sinais Climb And Know It Not.