All Things Come Round To Him Who

The Human Voice Is The Organ Of The Soul.

That Was The First Sound In The Song Of Love! Scarce More Than Silence Is, And Yet A Sound. Hands Of Invisible Spirits Touch The Strings Of That Mysterious Instrument, The Soul, And Play The Prelude Of Our Fate. We Hear The Voice Prophetic, And Are Not Alone.

Our Faith Triumphant O'er Our Fears.

The Air Of Summer Was Sweeter Than Wine.

With Useless Endeavour Forever, Forever, Is Sisyphus Rolling His Stone Up The Mountain!