I am one of the lingering bad ones, and so do I slink away, and pause, and ponder, and ponder, and pause, and do work without knowing why - not surely for this brief world, and more sure it is not for heaven - and I ask what this message of Christ means.

Forever is comprised of nows.

I imagine therefore I belong and am free.

But a Book is only the Heart's Portrait- every Page a Pulse.

We meet no Stranger, but Ourself.

Within thy Grave! Oh no, but on some other flight - Thou only camest to mankind To rend it with Good night

Twin loaves of bread have just been born into the world under my auspices. Fine children, the image of their mother. And here, my dear friend, is the glory.