If We Could Read The Secret History

When Thou Are Not Pleased, Beloved, Then My Heart Is Sad And Darkened, As The Shining River Darkens When The Clouds Drop Shadows On It! When Thou Smilest, My Beloved, Then My Troubled Heart Is Brightened, As In Sunshine Gleam The Ripples That The Cold Wind Makes In Rivers.

O Music! Language Of The Soul, Of Love, Of God To Man; Bright Beam From Heaven Thrilling, That Lightens Sorrow's Weight.

Our Blossoms Of Passion, Gay And Luxuriant Flowers, Are Bright And Full Of Fragrance, But They Beguile Us And Lead Us Astray, And Their Odor Is Deadly.

It Has Done Me Good To Be Somewhat Parched By The Heat And Drenched By The Rain Of Life.

Man Is Unjust, But God Is Just; And Finally Justice Triumphs.