God Is The Perfect Poet.

Such Ever Was Love's Way: To Rise, It Stoops.

On The Earth The Broken Arcs; In The Heaven A Perfect Round.

What A Name! Was It Love Or Praise? Speech Half-asleep Or Song Half-awake? I Must Learn Spanish, One Of These Days, Only For That Slow Sweet Name's Sake.

Our Interest's On The Dangerous Edge Of Things. The Honest Thief, The Tender Murderer, The Superstitious Atheist.

In The First Is The Last, In Thy Will Is My Power To Believe.