Death Is An Ascension To A Better

But Think That We Are But Turned Aside To Sleep.

Yesternight The Sun Went Hence, And Yet Is Here Today.

Love's Mysteries In Souls Do Grow, But Yet The Body Is His Book.

It Is Too Little To Call Man A Little World; Except God, Man Is A Diminutive To Nothing.

Reason Is Our Soul's Left Hand, Faith Her Right, By These We Reach Divinity