My sun sets to raise again.

Where Christ brings His cross He brings His presence; and where He is none are desolate, and there is no room for despair.

I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use

I work with patience, which is almost power.

Books are men of higher stature.

When we first met and loved, I did not build Upon the event with marble. . . .

I would build a cloudy House For my thoughts to live in; When for earth too fancy-loose And too low for Heaven! Hush! I talk my dream aloud - I build it bright to see, - I build it on the moonlit cloud, To which I looked with thee.