All Earth's Full Rivers Can

Hurt No Living Thing: Ladybird, Nor Butterfly, Nor Moth With Dusty Wing.

Oh That It Were With Me As With The Flower; Blooming On Its Own Tree For Butterfly And Bee Its Summer Morns: That I Might Bloom Mine Hour A Rose In Spite Of Thorns. Oh That My Work Were Done As Birds' That Soar Rejoicing In The Sun: That When My Time Is Run And Daylight Too, I So Might Rest Once More Cool With Refreshing Dew.

I Wish I Could Remember The First Day, First Hour, First Moment Of Your Meeting Me; If Bright Or Dim The Season It Might Be; Summer Or Winter For Aught I Can Say. So, Unrecorded Did It Slip Away, So Blind Was I To See And To Forsee, So Dull To Mark The Budding Of My Tree That Would Not Blossom, Yet, For Many A May.

Let Bygones Be Bygones.

O Lord, I Cannot Plead My Love Of Thee: I Plead Thy Love Of Me: - The Shallow Conduit Hails The Unfathomed Sea.