Love Is . . .

It Is Not, Nor It Cannot, Come To Good, But Break, My Heart, For I Must Hold My Tongue.

Angels And Ministers Of Grace Defend Us.

Why, Courage Then! What Cannot Be Avoided 'twere Childish Weakness To Lament Or Fear.

I Will Instruct My Sorrows To Be Proud; For Grief Is Proud, And Makes His Owner Stoop.

The Gloomy Shade Of Death.