It Is For God To Punish Wicked

And From The Midst Of Cheerless Gloom I Passed To Bright Unclouded Day.

The Winter Wind Is Loud And Wild, Come Close To Me, My Darling Child; Forsake Thy Books, And Mate Less Play; And, While The Night Is Gathering Grey, We'll Talk Its Pensive Hours Away.

A Sensible Man Ought To Find Sufficient Company In Himself.

How Cruel, Your Veins Are Full Of Ice-water And Mine Are Boiling

What Kind Of Living Will It Be When You - Oh, God! Would You Like To Live With Your Soul In The Grave?