Think In The Morning. Act In The

She Who Dwells With Me Whom I Have Loved With Such Communion, That No Place On Earth Can Ever Be Solitude To Me.

To Me This World Is All One Continued Vision Of Fancy Or Imagination, And I Feel Flattered When I Am Told So. What Is It Sets Homer, Virgil And Milton In So High A Rank Of Art? Why Is The Bible More Entertaining And Instructive Than Any Other Book? Is It Not Because They Are Addressed To The Imagination, Which Is Spiritual Sensation, And But Immediately To The Understanding Or Reason?

Ah, Sunflower, Weary Of Time, Who Countest The Steps Of The Sun, Seeking After That Sweet Golden Clime Where The Traveller's Journey Is Done; Where The Youth Pined Away With Desire And The Pale Virgin Shrouded In Snow Arise From Their Graves, And Aspire Where My Sunflower Wishes To Go.

We Are Here To Learn To Endure The Beams Of Love

More! More! Is The Cry Of A Mistaken Soul.