The Only Catalogue Of This World's Goods

As Long As I Live I Shall Always Be My Self - And No Other, Just Me.

The Sandy Cat By The Farmer's Chair Mews At His Knee For Dainty Fare; Old Rover In His Moss-greened House Mumbles A Bone, And Barks At A Mouse. In The Dewy Fields The Cattle Lie Chewing The Cud 'neath A Fading Sky; Dobbin At Manger Pulls His Hay: Gone Is Another Summer's Day.

The Only Catalogue Of This World's Goods That Really Counts Is That Which We Keep In The Silence Of The Mind.

When I Lie Where Shades Of Darkness Shall No More Assail Mine Eyes.

All But Blind In His Chambered Hole Gropes For Worms The Four-clawed Mole.