I See, But Cannot Reach, The Height

Winter Giveth The Fields, And The Trees So Old, Their Beards Of Icicles And Snow.

Safe From Temptation, Safe From Sin's Pollution, She Lives Whom We Call Dead.

By Unseen Hands Uplifted In The Light Of Sunset, Yonder Solitary Cloud Floats, With Its White Apparel Blown Abroad, And Wafted Up To Heaven.

Some Must Follow And Some Command, Through All Are Made Oclay.

Most People Would Succeed In Small Things If They Were Not Troubled With Great Ambitions.