Our country is where ever we are well off.

Smiles from reason flow, To brute deny'd, and are of love the food.

No date prefixed directs me in the starry rubric set.

Reason also is choice.

Is it true, O Christ in heaven, that the highest suffer the most? That the strongest wander furthest and most hopelessly are lost? That the mark of rank in nature is capacity for pain? That the anguish of the singer makes the sweetness of the strain?

Let us no more contend, nor blame each other, blamed enough elsewhere, but strive, In offices of love, how we may lighten each other's burden.

This horror will grow mild, this darkness light.