There Are Three Ways Of

God Is The Perfect Poet.

To Me At Least Was Never Evening Yet, But Seemed Far Beautifuller Than Its Day.

'tis Well Averred, A Scientific Faith's Absurd.

I Walked A Mile With Pleasure; She Chattered All The Way. But Left Me None The Wiser For All She Had To Say. I Walked A Mile With Sorrow And Ne'er A Word Said She; But Oh, The Things I Learned From Her When Sorrow Walked With Me!

What's Come To Perfection Perishes. Things Learned On Earth We Shall Practice In Heaven; Works Done Least Rapidly Art Most Cherishes.