Still More Labyrinthine Buds The

I Want To Know A Butcher Paints, A Baker Rhymes For His Pursuit, Candlestick-maker Much Acquaints His Soul With Song, Or, Haply Mute, Blows Out His Brains Upon The Flute.

But Little Do Or Can The Best Of Us: That Little Is Achieved Through Liberty.

All Service Is The Same With God.

Needs There Groan A World In Anguish Just To Teach Us Sympathy?

No Thought Which Ever Stirred A Human Breast Should Be Untold.