From Henceforth Thou Shalt Learn That There

It Is Not Reason Which Makes Faith Hard, But Life.

When Our Thoughts Are Born, Though They Be Good And Humble, One Should Mind How They Are Reared, Or Some Will Go Astray And Shame Their Mother.

How Gently Rock Yon Poplars High Against The Reach Of Primrose Sky With Heaven's Pale Candles Stored.

Crowds Of Bees Are Giddy With Clover Crowds Of Grasshoppers Skip At Our Feet, Crowds Of Larks At Their Matins Hang Over, Thanking The Lord For A Life So Sweet.

Yet There Are Some Resting-places, / Life's Untroubled Interludes; / Times When Neither Past Nor Future / On The Soul's Deep Calm Intrudes.