The Poet Lights The Light And Fades

Where Thou Art, That Is Home.

When Everything That Ticked Has Stopped, And Space Stares, All Around, Or Grisly Frosts, First Autumn Morns, Repeal The Beating Ground.

What Shall We Do My Darling, When Trial Grows More, And More, When The Dim, Lone Light Expires, And It's Dark, So Very Dark, And We Wander, And Know Not Where, And Cannot Get Out Of The Forest - Whose Is The Hand To Help Us, And To Lead, And Forever Guide Us? ... Where Do You Think I've Strayed And From What New Errand Returned. I Have Come From To And Fro, And Walking Up And Down The Same Place That Satan Hailed From When God Asked Where He'd Been.

Grant Me, O Lord, A Sunny Mind-thy Windy Will To Bear!

Fearless--the Cobweb Swings From The Ceiling-- Indolent Housewife--in Daisies--lain!