Stay, Stay At Home, My

The Gentle Wind, A Sweet And Passionate Wooer, Kisses The Blushing Leaf.

It Is True, That It Is Not At All Necessary To Love Many Books, In Order To Love Them Much.

No Action, Whether Foul Or Fair, Is Ever Done, But It Leaves Somewhere A Record, Written By Fingers Ghostly, As A Blessing Or A Curse, And Mostly In The Greater Weakness Or Greater Strength Of The Acts Which Follow It.

God Sent His Singers Upon Earth With Songs Of Sadness And Of Mirth, That They Might Touch The Hearts Of Men, And Bring Them Back To Heaven Again.

Who Ne'er His Bread In Sorrow Ate, Who Ne'er The Mournful Midnight Hours Weeping Upon His Bed Has Sate, He Knows You Not, Ye Heavenly Powers.