Instinct Is A Great Matter. I Was

For Love, Thou Know'st, Is Full Of Jealousy

Courage And Comfort, All Shall Yet Go Well

Sorrow, Like A Heavy Ringing Bell, Once Set On Ringing, With Its Own Weight Goes; Then Little Strength Rings Out The Doleful Knell.

Silence Is The Perfect Herald Of Joy.

Poor And Content, Is Rich And Rich Enough; But Riches, Fineless, Is As Poor As Winter, To Him That Ever Fears He Shall Be Poor.