How Slight A Chance May Raise Or

When Night Hath Set Her Silver Lamp High, Then Is The Time For Study.

Envy's A Coal Comes Hissing Hot From Hell.

I Run The Gauntlet Of A File Of Doubts, Each One Of Which Down Hurls Me To The Ground.

Respect Is What We Owe; Love, What We Give.

Dear Lord, Our God And Saviour! For Thy Gifts The World Were Poor In Thanks, Though Every Soul Were To Do Nought But Breathe Them, Every Blade Of Grass, And Every Atomie Of Earth To Utter It Like Dew.