There Is In Souls A Sympathy With

How Readily We Wish Time Spent Revoked, That We Might Try The Ground Again Where Once--through Inexperience, As We Now Perceive--we Missed That Happiness We Might Have Found!

O Winter, Ruler Of The Inverted Year!

The Still Small Voice Is Wanted.

Be It A Weakness, It Deserves Some Praise, We Love The Play-place Of Our Early Days; The Scene Is Touching, And The Heart Is Stone, That Feels Not At That Sight, And Feels At None.

There Is No Flesh In Man's Obdurate Heart; He Does Not Feel For Man.