But the churchmen fain would kill their church, As the churches have kill'd their Christ.

Yonder cloud That rises upward always higher, And onward drags a laboring breast, And topples round the dreary west, A looming bastion fringed with fire.

A life of nothing's nothing worth, From that first nothing ere his birth, To that last nothing under earth.

Twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell when I embark.

Follow the deer? Follow the Christ the King. Live pure, speak true,right wrong, Follow the King-- Else, wherefore born?

We cannot be kind to each other here for even an hour. We whisper, and hint, and chuckle and grin at our brother's shame; however you take it we men are a little breed.

Virtue!--to be good and just-- Every heart, when sifted well, Is a clot of warmer dust, Mix'd with cunning sparks of hell.