All Are Of The Race Of God,

We Live Not To Ourselves, Our Work Is Life.

The Death-bed Of A Day, How Beautiful!

Evil Then Results From Imperfection.

Ask Not Of Me, Love, What Is Love? Ask What Is Good Of God Above; Ask Of The Great Sun What Is Light; Ask What Is Darkness Of The Night; Ask Sin Of What May Be Forgiven; Ask What Is Happiness Of Heaven; Ask What Is Folly Of The Crowd; Ask What Is Fashion Of The Shroud; Ask What Is Sweetness Of Thy Kiss; Ask Of Thyself What Beauty Is.

I Run The Gauntlet Of A File Of Doubts, Each One Of Which Down Hurls Me To The Ground.