How Slight A Chance May Raise Or

Words Are The Motes Of Thought, And Nothing More.

It Is Sad To See The Light Of Beauty Wane Away, Know Eyes Are Dimming, Bosoms Shrivelling, Feet Losing Their Springs, And Limbs Their Lily Roundness; But It Is Worse To Feel The Heart-spring Gone, To Lose Hope, Care Not For The Coming Thing, And Feel All Things Go To Decay Within Us.

I Cannot Be Content With Less Than Heaven; Living, And Comprehensive Of All Life. Thee, Universal Heaven, Celestial All; Thee, Sacrjd Seat Of Intellective Time; Field Of The Soul 's Best Wisdom : Home Of Truth , Star-throned.

If All Were Rich, Gold Would Be Penniless.

Art Is A Man's Nature; Nature Is God's Art.