Religion Is Not A Melancholy, The Spirit

Thy Face Is Mine Eye, And Mine Is Thine.

More Than Kisses, Letters Mingle Souls.

The Psalms Foretell What I, What Any Shall Do And Suffer And Say.

We Study Health, And We Deliberate Upon Our Meats And Drink And Air And Exercises, And We Hew And We Polish Every Stone That Goes To That Building; And So Our Health Is A Long And Regular Work. But In A Minute A Cannon Batters All, Overthrows All, Demolishes All; A Sickness Unprevented For All Our Diligence, Unsuspected For All Our Curiosity, Nay, Undeserved, If We Consider Only Disorder, Summons Us, Seizes Us, Possesses Us, Destroys Us In An Instant.

To Know And Feel All This And Not Have The Words To Express It Makes A Human A Grave Of His Own Thoughts.