Time is short and full, like an outgrown Frock - .

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.

How softly summer shuts, without the creaking of a door.

Some Arrows slay but whom they strike - But this slew all but him - Who so appareled his Escape - Too trackless for a Tomb

The older I grow the more do I love spring and spring flowers. Is it so with you?

A great hope fell You heard no noise The ruin was within.

I think Heaven will not be as good as earth, unless it bring with it that sweet power to remember, which is the staple of Heaven here.