When Our Thoughts Are Born, Though They

Such A Slender Moon, Going Up And Up, Waxing So Fast From Night To Night, And Swelling Like An Orange Flower-bud, Bright, Fated, Methought, To Round As To A Golden Cup, And Hold To My Two Lips Life's Best Of Wine.

There's No Dew Left On The Daisies And Clover; There's No Rain Left In Heaven.

When Sparrows Build And The Leaves Break Forth My Old Sorrow Wakes And Cries.

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

I Have Lived To Thank God That All My Prayers Have Not Been Answered.