We Turn Not Older With Years But

How Frugal Is The Chariot That Bears A Human Soul.

I Think Of Love, And You, And My Heart Grows Full And Warm, And My Breath Stands Still... I Can Feel A Sunshine Stealing Into My Soul And Making It All Summer, And Every Thorn, A Rose.

Which Anguish Was The Utterest--then-- To Perish, Or To Live?

My Life Closed Twice Before Its Close

God's Little Blond Blessing We Have Long Deemed You, And Hope His So-called Will Will Not Compel Him To Revoke You.