O Fateful Flower Beside The Rill- The

How Short Our Happy Days Appear! How Long The Sorrowful!

You Moon, Have You Done Something Wrong In Heaven / That God Has Hidden Your Face?

It Is Not Reason Which Makes Faith Hard, But Life.

And Bitter Waxed The Fray; Brother With Brother Spake No Word When They Met In The Way.

The Moon Is Bleached As White As Wool, And Just Dropping Under; Every Star Is Gone But Three, And They Hang Far Asunder,-- There's A Sea-ghost All In Gray, A Tall Shape Of Wonder!