For I say this is death and the sole death,- When a man's loss comes to him from his gain, Darkness from light, from knowledge ignorance, And lack of love from love made manifest.

No work begun shall ever pause for death.

Only I discern Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.

God's justice, tardy though it prove perchance, Rests never on the track until it reach Delinquency.

All service ranks the same with God,- With God, whose puppets, best and worst, Are we: there is no last nor first.

Poetry, like love, is something we never truly say goodbye to.

Praise is deeper than the lips