When Our Thoughts Are Born,

It Is A Comely Fashion To Be Glad; Joy Is The Grace We Say To God.

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.

Tears Are The Showers That Fertilize This World.

From Henceforth Thou Shalt Learn That There Is Love To Long For, Pureness To Desire, A Mount Of Consecration It Were Good To Scale.

How Short Our Happy Days Appear! How Long The Sorrowful!