Truth Sits Upon The Lips Of Dying

With Aching Hands And Bleeding Feet We Dig And Heap, Lay Stone On Stone; We Bear The Burden And The Heat Of The Long Day, And Wish 'twere Done. Not Till The Hours Of Light Return All We Have Built Do We Discern.

Resolve To Be Thyself: And Know That He Who Finds Himself, Loses His Misery.

Poetry; A Criticism Of Life Under The Conditions Fixed For Such A Criticism By The Laws Of Poetic Truth And Poetic Beauty.

One Has Often Wondered Whether Upon The Whole Earth There Is Anything So Unintelligent, So Unapt To Perceive How The World Is Really Going, As An Ordinary Young Englishman Of Our Upper Class.

Now, The Whole World Hears Or Shall Hear,--surely Shall Hear, At The Last, Though Men Delay, And Doubt, And Faint, And Fail,-- That Promise Faithful:--"fear Not, Little Flock! It Is Your Father's Will And Joy, To Give To You, The Kingdom"!