Love For Thy Love , And Hand

But Shall We Wear These Glories For A Day? Or Shall They Last, And We Rejoice In Them?

I Wish My Horse Had The Speed Of Your Tongue.

When I Bestride Him, I Soar, I Am A Hawk: He Trots The Air; The Earth Sings When He Touches It; The Basest Horn Of His Hoof Is More Musical Than The Pipe Of Hermes.

He Is Not Great Who Is Not Greatly Good.

Pause Awhile, And Let My Counsel Sway You.