Choose Love Not In The Shallows But

Gone Were But The Winter, Come Were But The Spring, I Would Go To A Covert Where The Birds Sing; Where In The Whitethorn Singeth A Thrush, And A Robin Sings In The Holly-bush. Full Of Fresh Scents Are The Budding Boughs Arching High Over A Cool Green House: Full Of Sweet Scents, And Whispering Air Which Sayeth Softly: We Spread No Snare; Here Dwell In Safety, Here Dwell Alone, With A Clear Stream And A Mossy Stone. Here The Sun Shineth Most Shadily; Here Is Heard An Echo Of The Far Sea, Though Far Off It Be.

As A Tree My Sin Stands To Darken All Lands; Death Is The Fruit It Bore.

To Me It Seems Our Duty Towards The Bible Is To Obey Its Teaching In Faith. I Do Not Think We Are Bound To Understand Or Account For All Its Utterances.

I Believe Because I Am Told To Believe ... My Faith Is Faith; It Is Not Evolved Out Of Argumentation, Nor Does It Seek The Aid Of That.

Where Innocent Bright-eyes Daisies Are With Blades Of Grass Between, Each Daisy Stands Up Like A Star Out Of A Sky Of Green.