The Best Way To Excape His Ire

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

That We Devote Ourselves To God, Is Seen In Living Just As Though No God There Were.

I Do What Many Dream Of, All Their Lives

What? Was Man Made A Wheel-work To Wind Up, And Be Discharged, And Straight Wound Up Anew? No! Grown, His Growth Lasts; Taught, He Ne'er Forgets: May Learn A Thousand Things, Not Twice The Same.

All Service Ranks The Same With God,- With God, Whose Puppets, Best And Worst, Are We: There Is No Last Nor First.