When I Lie Where Shades Of Darkness

Once A Man Strays Out Of The Common Herd, He's More Likely To Meet Wolves In The Thickets Than Angels.

Look Thy Last On All Things Lovely, Every Hour

His Brow Is Seamed With Line And Scar; His Cheek Is Red And Dark As Wine; The Fires As Of A Northern Star Beneath His Cap Of Sable Shine. His Right Hand, Bared Of Leathern Glove, Hangs Open Like An Iron Gin, You Stoop To See His Pulses Move, To Hear The Blood Sweep Out And In. He Looks Some King, So Solitary In Earnest Thought He Seems To Stand, As If Across A Lonely Sea He Gazed Impatient Of The Land. Out Of The Noisy Centuries The Foolish And The Fearful Fade; Yet Burn Unquenched These Warrior Eyes, Time Hath Not Dimmed, Nor Death Dismayed.

A Lost But Happy Dream May Shed Its Light Upon Our Waking Hours, And The Whole Day May Be Infected With The Gloom Of A Dreary Or Sorrowful One; Yet Of Neither May We Be Able To Recover A Trace.

The Only Catalogue Of This World's Goods That Really Counts Is That Which We Keep In The Silence Of The Mind.