Therefore, If At Great Things

Innumerable As The Stars Of Night, Or Stars Of Morning, Dewdrops Which The Sun Impearls On Every Leaf And Every Flower.

Fame Is No Plant That Grows On Mortal Soil.

God Is Thy Law, Thou Mine: To Know No More Is Woman's Happiest Knowledge And Her Praise. With Thee Conversing I Forget All Time.

Abash'd The Devil Stood, And Felt How Awful Goodness Is.

What Hath Night To Do With Sleep?