There's Nothing Fair Nor Beautiful, But Takes

And When She Was Good She Was Very Very Good. But When She Was Bad She Was Horrid.

There Is Nothing Holier In This Life Of Ours Than The First Consciousness Of Love, The First Fluttering Of Its Silken Wings.

I Like That Ancient Saxon Phrase, Which Calls The Burial-ground God's-acre! It Is Just; It Consecrates Each Grave Within Its Walls, And Breathes A Benison O'er The Sleeping Dust.

Saint Augustine! Well Hast Thou Said, That Of Our Vices We Can Frame A Ladder, If We Will But Tread Beneath Our Feet Each Deed Of Shame.

O Little Souls! As Pure As White And Crystalline As Rays Of Light Direct From Heaven, Their Source Divine; Refracted Through The Mist Of Years, How Red My Setting Sun Appears, How Lurid Looks This Soul Of Mine!