Yet Through All, We Know This Tangled

In The Entire Circle Of The Year There Are No Days So Delightful As Those Of A Fine October, When The Trees Are Bare To The Mild Heavens, And The Red Leaves Bestrew The Road, And You Can Feel The Breath Of Winter, Morning And Evening - No Days So Calm, So Tenderly Solemn, And With Such A Reverent Meekness In The Air.

Yet Through All, We Know This Tangled Skein Is In The Hands Of One, Who Sees The End From The Beginning: He Shall Unravel All.

Some Books Are Drenchèd Sandson Which A Great Soul's Wealth Lies All In Heaps,like A Wrecked Argosy.

There Is No Ghost So Difficult To Lay As The Ghost Of An Injury.

To Have To Die Is A Distinction Of Which No Man Is Proud.