As God Loves A Cheerful Giver, So

He Must Pull Out His Own Eyes, And See No Creature, Before He Can Say, He Sees No God; He Must Be No Man, And Quench His Reasonable Soul, Before He Can Say To Himself, There Is No God.

Kind Pity Chokes My Spleen.

But He Who Loveliness Within Hath Found, All Outward Loathes, For He Who Color Loves, And Skin, Loves But Their Oldest Clothes.

How Great Love Is, Presence Best Trial Makes, But Absence Tries How Long This Love Will Be.

No Man Is An Island Unto Himself.