Books are men of higher stature, and the only men that speak aloud for future times to hear.

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

Life, struck sharp on death, Makes awful lightning.

For frequent tears have run; The colours from my life.

But so fair, She takes the breath of men away Who gaze upon her unaware.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.

With what cracked pitchers go we to deep wells In this world!