Much Of The Work Of Every Life

Heaven Knows What I Have Not Been Through With, Since I Saw You-dust, Dirt, Dyspepsia, Hotels, Railroads, Prairies, Tobacco Juice.

In The Beauty Of The Lilies Christ Was Born Across The Sea, With A Glory In His Bosom That Transfigures You And Me; As He Died To Make Men Holy, Let Us Die To Make Men Free, While God Is Marching On.

In The Nature Of Things, I Must Soon Lose Sight Of This Sense Of Constant Metamorphosis Whose Limits Bound Our Human Life.

The Greatest Evils Of Society Are Goods That Have Refused To Go On, But Have Sat Down On The Highway, Saying To The World, "we Stop Here; Do You Stop Also.

I Was Born 'neath A Clouded Star.