Wherever You Are, I Am

In Praise Of Thy Goodness I Must Confess That Thou Didst Try With All Thy Means To Draw Me To Thee. Sometimes It Pleased Thee To Let Me Feel The Heavy Hand Of Thy Displeasure And To Humiliate My Proud Heart By Manifold Castigations. Sickness And Misfortune Didst Thou Send Upon Me To Turn My Thoughts To My Errantries.-one Thing, Only, O Father, Do I Ask: Cease Not To Labor For My Betterment. In Whatsoever Manner It Be, Let Me Turn To Thee And Become Fruitful In Good Works.

She Was Such A Good Loving Mother, My Best Friend. Oh, Who Was Happier Than I When I Could Still Say The Dear Name "mother," And It Was Heard, And Whom Can I Say It To Now?

I Liked Your Opera. I Think I Will Set It To Music.

After Rossini Dies, Who Will Be There To Promote His Music?

The Barriers Are Not Erected Which Can Say To Aspiring Talents And Industry, 'thus Far And No Farther.'