Yet There Are Some Resting-places, / Life's

And Bitter Waxed The Fray; Brother With Brother Spake No Word When They Met In The Way.

You Moon, Have You Done Something Wrong In Heaven / That God Has Hidden Your Face?

Children Bring Their Own Love With Them When They Come.

O Sleep! O Sleep! Do Not Forget Me. Sometimes Come And Sweep, Now I Have Nothing Left, Thy Healing Hand Over The Lids That Crave Thy Visits Bland, Thou Kind, Thou Comforting One. For I Have Seen His Face, As I Desired, And All My Story Is Done. O, I Am Tired.

Yet There Are Some Resting-places, / Life's Untroubled Interludes; / Times When Neither Past Nor Future / On The Soul's Deep Calm Intrudes.