Work Is Its Own Best

I Don't Want To Die. But I Want To Be Dead.

O Sleep, We Are Beholden To Thee, Sleep; Thou Bearest Angels To Us In The Night, Saints Out Of Heaven With Palms. Seen By Thy Light Sorrow Is Some Old Tale That Goeth Not Deep; Love Is A Pouting Child.

I Have Lived Life Long Enough To Thank God That All My Prayers Have Not Been Answered

There Is But Halting For The Wearied Foot; The Better Way Is Hidden. Faith Hath Failed; One Stronger Far Than Reason Mastered Her. It Is Not Reason Makes Faith Hard, But Life.

And Old Affront Will Stir The Heart Through Years Of Rankling Pain.