What Name To Call Thee By, O

I Saw The Tracks Of Angels In The Earth: The Beauty Of Heaven Walking By Itself On The World.

Rarely Do Great Beauty And Great Virtue Dwell Together.

Love Is The Crowning Grace Of Humanity.

Those Spacious Regions Where Our Fancies Roam, Pain'd By The Past, Expecting Ills To Come, In Some Dread Moment, By The Fates Assign'd, Shall Pass Away, Nor Leave A Rack Behind; And Time's Revolving Wheels Shall Lose At Last The Speed That Spins The Future And The Past: And, Sovereign Of An Undisputed Throne, Awful Eternity Shall Reign Alone.

Often Have I Wondered With Much Curiosity As To Our Coming Into This World And What Will Follow Our Departure.