But Search The Land Of Living Men,

Sleep The Sleep That Knows Not Breaking, Morn Of Toil, Nor Night Of Waking.

For Love Will Still Be Lord Of All.

I'll Dream No More--by Mainly Mind Not Even In Sleep Is Well Resigned. My Midnight Orisons Said O'er, I'll Turn To Rest And Dream No More.

A Sinful Heart Makes Feeble Hand.

Ridicule Often Checks What Is Absurd, And Fully As Often Smothers That Which Is Noble.