Never love with all your heart, It only ends in aching.

Whatever lives is granted breath But by the grace and sufferance of Death.

I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind

I have a rendezvous with life.

Not for myself I make this prayer, But for this race of mine That stretches forth from shadowed places Dark hands for bread and wine.

All day long and all night through, One thing only must I do: Quench my pride and cool my blood, Lest I perish in the flood.

I was reared in the conservative atmosphere of a Methodist parsonage.