He Guides Me And The Bird. In

Man Seeks His Own Good At The Whole World's Cost.

But God Has A Few Of Us To Whom He Whispers In The Ear; The Rest May Reason And Welcome; 'tis We Musicians Know.

All June I Bound The Rose In Sheaves, Now, Rose By Rose, I Strip The Leaves.

Autumn Wins You Best By This Its Mute Appeal To Sympathy For Its Decay.

Outside Are The Storms And Strangers: We — Oh, Close, Safe, Warm Sleep I And She, — I And She!