O Fateful Flower Beside The Rill- The

Yet There Are Some Resting-places, / Life's Untroubled Interludes; / Times When Neither Past Nor Future / On The Soul's Deep Calm Intrudes.

It Is A Comely Fashion To Be Glad; Joy Is The Grace We Say To God.

Man Is The Miracle In Nature. God Is The One Miracle To Man. Behold, "there Is A God," Thou Sayest. Thou Sayest Well: In That Thou Sayest All. To Be Is More Of Wonderful, Than Being, To Have Wrought, Or Reigned, Or Rested.

The Moon Looks Upon Many Night Flowers; The Night Flowers See But One Moon.

I Am Athirst For God, The Living God.