And Lips Say “god Be Pitiful,” Who

What We Call Life Is A Condition Of The Soul. And The Soul Must Improve In Happiness And Wisdom, Except By Its Own Fault. These Tears In Our Eyes, These Faintings Of The Flesh, Will Not Hinder Such Improvement.

Many A Fervid Man Writes Books As Cold And Flat As Graveyard Stones.

Whoever Lives True Life, Will Love True Love.

And Is It Not The Chief Good Of Money, The Being Free From The Need Of Thinking Of It?

Pray, Pray, Thou Who Also Weepest,-- And The Drops Will Slacken So; Weep, Weep--and The Watch Thou Keepest, With A Quicker Count Will Go. Think,--the Shadow On The Dial For The Nature Most Undone, Marks The Passing Of The Trial, Proves The Presence Of The Sun.