Beauty Is God's Handwriting-a Wayside Sacrament.

Bid Amaranthus All His Beauty Shed, And Daffodillies Fill Their Cups With Tears, To Strew The Laureate To Hearse When Lycid Lies.

Faithful Found Among The Faithless.

Where No Hope Is Left, Is Left No Fear.

If All The World Should In A Pet Of Temp'rance, Feed On Pulse, Drink The Clear Stream, And Nothing Wear But Frieze, Th' All-giver Would Be Unthank'd, Would Be Unprais'd.

Part Of My Soul I Seek Thee, And Claim Thee My Other Half