A Little Learning Is A Dangerous Thing,

Let The Tears Which Fell, And The Broken Words Which Were Exchanged In The Long Close Embrace Between The Orphans, Be Sacred. A Father, Sister, And Mother, Were Gained, And Lost, In That One Moment. Joy And Grief Were Mingled In The Cup; But There Were No Bitter Tears: For Even Grief Arose So Softened, And Clothed In Such Sweet And Tender Recollections, That It Became A Solemn Pleasure, And Lost All Character Of Pain.

I Went Away, Dear Agnes, Loving You. I Stayed Away, Loving You. I Returned Home, Loving You!

And When It Has Got In; As One Not Finding What It Seeks, Whatever That May Be, It Wails And Howls To Issue Forth Again: And Not Content With Stalking Through The Aisles, And Gliding Round And Round The Pillars, And Tempting The Deep Organ, Soars Up To The Roof, And Strives To Rend The Rafters: Then Flings Itself Despairingly Upon The Stones Below, And Passes, Muttering, Into The Vaults.

The Dreams Of Childhood - It's Airy Fables, Its Graceful, Beautiful, Humane, Impossible Adornments Of The World Beyond; So Good To Be Believed In Once, So Good To Be Remembered When Outgrown.

When Death Strikes Down The Innocent And Young, For Every Fragile Form From Which He Lets The Panting Spirit Free, A Hundred Virtues Rise, In Shapes Of Mercy, Charity, And Love, To Walk The World And Bless It. Of Every Tear That Sorrowing Mortals Shed On Such Green Graves, Some Good Is Born, Some Gentler Nature Comes.