Believe And Be Confirmed.

How Gladly Would I Meet Mortality, My Sentence, And Be Earth In Sensible! How Glad Would Lay Me Down, As In My Mother's Lap! There I Should Rest, And Sleep Secure.

Antichrist Is Mammon's Son.

Come To The Sunset Tree! The Day Is Past And Gone; The Woodman's Axe Lies Free, And The Reaper's Work Is Done.

Sweet Is The Breath Of Morn, Her Rising Sweet, With Charm Of Earliest Birds.

He Who Would Not Be Frustrate Of His Hope To Write Well Hereafter In Laudable Things Ought Himself To Be A True Poem.