We Must Not Pluck Death From The

Corruption Springs From Light: 'tis One Same Power Creates, Preserves, Destroys; Matter Whereon It Works, On E'er Self-transmutative Form, Common To Now The Living, Now The Dead.

The Temples Perish, But The God Still Lives.

The Course Of Nature Seems A Course Of Death, And Nothingness The Whole Substantial Thing.

Any Heart Turned Godward Feels More Joyin One Short Hour Of Prayer, Than E'er Was Raisedby All The Feasts Of Earth Since Its Foundation.

My Favoured Temple Is An Humble Heart.