Where Thou Art, That Is Home.

Hope . . . Never Stops At All.

Beauty Crowds Me Till I Die. Beauty, Mercy Have On Me! Yet If I Expire To-day Let It Be In Sight Of Thee!

And You Dropt, Lost, When Something Broke-- And Let You From A Dream

Dare You See A Soul At The White Heat?

Mirth Is The Mail Of Anguish --