Our acts our angels are, for good or ill, our fatal shadows that walk by us still.
Come, sing now, sing; for I know you sing well; I see you have a singing face.
Tyranny is yielding to the lust of the governing.
Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes, brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose.
Ask how to live? Write, write, write, anything; The world's a fine believing world, write news.
Only look to Jesus. He died for you, died in your place, died under the frowns of heaven, that we might die under its smile.