Heaven Is The Presence Of God.

It Is Not The Deed We Do Though The Deed Be Never So Fair, But The Love That The Dear Lord Looketh For, Hidden With Lovely Care In The Heart Of The Deed So Fair.

The Violets Whisper From The Shade Which Their Own Leaves Have Made: Men Scent Our Fragrance On The Air, Yet Take No Heed Of Humble Lessons We Would Read.

What Is Green? The Grass Is Green, With Small Flowers Between. What Is Violet? Clouds Are Violet In The Summer Twilight. What Is Orange? Why, An Orange, Just An Orange!

And All Winds Go Sighing For Sweet Things Dying.

We Must Not Look At Goblin Men, We Must Not Buy Their Fruits: Who Knows Upon What Soil They Fed Their Hungry Thirsty Roots?