And lips say “God be pitiful,” Who ne'er said “God be praised.”

And yet, because I love thee, I obtain From that same love this vindicating grace, To live on still in love, and yet in vain

Love me sweet With all thou art Feeling, thinking, seeing; Love me in the Lightest part, Love me in full Being.

Of writing many books there is no end.

May the good God pardon all good men.

My future will not copy my fair past, I wrote that once. And, thinking at my side my ministering life-angel justified the word by his appealing look upcast to the white throne of God.

Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God: But only he who sees takes off his shoes.