You Call It Hope-that Fire

There Are Few Cases In Which Mere Popularity Should Be Considered A Proper Test Of Merit; But The Case Of Song-writing Is, I Think, One Of The Few.

The Nose Of A Mob Is Its Imagination. By This, At Any Time, It Can Be Quietly Led.

In The Heaven's Above, The Angels, Whispering To One Another, Can Find, Among Their Burning Terms Of Love, None So Devotional As That Of 'mother.

It Would Be Mockery To Call Such Dreariness Heaven At All.

And All I Loved, I Loved Alone.