The Sun, Centre And Sire Of Light,

Every Believer Is God's Miracle.

The Beautiful Are Never Desolate; But Some One Alway Loves Them--god Or Man. If Man Abandons, God Himself Takes Them.

Love Spends His All, And Still Hath Store.

Dewdrops, Nature's Tears, Which She Sheds In Her Own Breast For The Fair Which Die. The Sun Insists On Gladness; But At Night, When He Is Gone, Poor Nature Loves To Weep.

Death Is The Universal Salt Of States; Blood Is The Base Of All Things--law And War.