Time Is The Life Of

All Sense Of Hearing And Of Sight Enfold In The Serene Delight And Quietude Of Sleep.

A Boy's Will Is The Wind's Will, And The Thought's Of Youth Are Long, Long Thoughhts

Think Not Because No Man Sees, Such Things Will Remain Unseen.

For 'tis Sweet To Stammer One Letter Of The Eternal's Language; - On Earth It Is Called Forgiveness!

Beautiful In Form And Feature, Lovely As The Day, Can There Be So Fair A Creature Formed Of Common Clay?