What Peaceful Hours I Once

There Is In Souls A Sympathy With Sounds.

No Traveler E'er Reached That Blest Abode Who Found Not Thorns And Briers In His Road.

I Would Not Have A Slave To Till My Ground, To Carry Me, To Fan Me While I Sleep, And Tremble When I Wake, For All The Wealth That Sinews Bought And Sold Have Ever Earn'd.

How Shall I Speak Thee, Or Thy Power Address Thou God Of Our Idolatry, The Press. . . . . Like Eden's Dead Probationary Tree, Knowledge Of Good And Evil Is From Thee.

Some To The Fascination Of A Name, Surrender Judgment Hoodwinked.