... love moves the world along.

You are your own devil, you are your own God, You fashioned the paths that your footsteps have trod, And no one can save you from error or sin, Until you shall hark to the Spirit within.

I knew it the first of the summer, I knew it the same at the end, That you and your love were plighted, But couldn't you be my friend?

I was as pure as the morning When I first looked on your face; I knew I never could reach you In your high, exalted place.

All the past is not worth one today.

God made poor woman with no heart, But gave her skill, and tact, and art, And so she lives, and plays her part. We must not blame, but pity her.

There is new strength, repose of mind, and inspiration in fresh apparel.