Love Is The Art Of Hearts, And

Night Brings Out Stars As Sorrow Shows Us Truths.

Dear Lord, Our God And Saviour! For Thy Gifts The World Were Poor In Thanks, Though Every Soul Were To Do Nought But Breathe Them, Every Blade Of Grass, And Every Atomie Of Earth To Utter It Like Dew.

Poets Are All Who Love, Who Feel Great Truths, And Tell Them; And The Truth Of Truths Is Love.

Where Imperfection Ceaseth, Heaven Begins.

The Dew, 'tis Of The Tears Which Stars Weep, Sweet With Joy.