Whose Heart The Accustom'd Sight

Fear No More The Heat O' Th' Sun Nor The Furious Winters' Rages; Thou Thy Worldly Task Hast Done, Home Art Gone, And Ta'en Thy Wages. Golden Lads And Girls All Must, As Chimney-sweepers, Come To Dust.

When Love Begins To Sicken And Decay It Uses An Enforced Ceremony.

This Sanguine Coward, This Bed-presser, This Horseback-breaker, This Huge Hill Of Flesh!

A Very Little Little Let Us Do And All Is Done.

So Holy Writ In Babes Hath Judgment Shown When Judges Have Been Babes; Great Floods Have Flown From Simple Sources, And Great Seas Have Dried When Miracles Have By The Greatest Been Denied.