Guess Now Who Holds Thee?'--'death,' I Said.

God Himself Is The Best Poet, And The Real Is His Song.

The Man, Most Man, Works Best For Men: And, If Most Man Indeed, He Gets His Manhood Plainest From His Soul.

When God Helps All The Workers For His World, The Singers Shall Have Help Of Him, Not Last.

I Love Thee With The Passion Put To Use In My Old Griefs, And With My Childhood's Faith. I Love Thee With A Love I Seemed To Lose With My Lost Saints,-i Love Thee With The Breath, Smiles, Tears, Of All My Life!-and, If God Choose, I Shall But Love Thee Better After Death.

Truth Outlives Pain, As The Soul Does Life.