The Truth Of Truths Is Love.

Evil Then Results From Imperfection.

Look On The Bee Upon The Wing 'mong Flowers; How Brave, How Bright His Life! Then Mark, Him Hiv'd, Cramp'd, Cringing In His Self-built, Social Cell, Thus It Is In The World-hive; Most Where Men Lie Deep In Cities As In Drifts.

Music Lives Within Thy Lips Like A Nightingale In Roses.

For Ivy Climbs The Crumbling Hall To Decorate Decay.

See The Sun! God's Crest Upon His Azure Shield, The Heavens.