The Past Is Gained, Secure, And On

Death Was Past, Life Not Come: So He Waited.

I Walked A Mile With Pleasure; She Chattered All The Way. But Left Me None The Wiser For All She Had To Say. I Walked A Mile With Sorrow And Ne'er A Word Said She; But Oh, The Things I Learned From Her When Sorrow Walked With Me!

God Is The Perfect Poet.

Men Are Not Angels, Neither Are They Brutes.

How Strange Now, Looks The Life He Makes Us Lead; So Free We Seem, So Fettered Fast We Are!