Heaven Is As The Book Of God

Ink Is The Blood Of The Printing-press.

Come, Pensive Nun, Devout And Pure, Sober Steadfast, And Demure, All In A Robe Of Darkest Grain, Flowing With Majestic Train.

Now The Bright Morning-star, Day's Harbinger, Comes Dancing From The East.

So May'st Thou Live, Till Like Ripe Fruit Thou Drop Into Thy Mother's Lap.

Let Us Go Forth And Resolutely Dare With Sweat Of Brow To Toil Our Little Day.