So Bright The Tear In Beauty's Eye,

And What Is Writ Is Writ - / Would It Were Worthier!

The Image Of Eternity--the Throne Of The Invisible; Even From Out Thy Slime The Monsters Of The Deep Are Made; Each Zone Obeys Thee; Thou Goest Forth, Dread, Fathomless, Alone.

And Doubt And Discord Step 'twixt Thine And Thee.

How Sweet And Soothing Is This Hour Of Calm! I Thank Thee, Night! For Thou Has Chased Away These Horrid Bodements Which, Amidst The Throng, I Could Not Dissipate; And With The Blessing Of Thy Benign And Quiet Influence Now Will I To My Couch, Although To Rest Is Almost Wronging Such A Night As This.

In Commitment, We Dash The Hopes Of A Thousand Potential Selves.