486
I was the slightest in the House—
I took the smallest Room—
At night, my little Lamp, and Boo
And one Geranium—

88
As by the dead we love to sit,
Become so wondrous dear—
As for the lost we grapple
Tho’ all the rest are here—

A Coffin’—is a small Domain,
Yet able to contain
A Citizen of Paradise
In it diminished Plane.
A Grave’—is a restricted Breadth’

463
I live with Him — I see His face
I go no more away
For Visitor — or Sundown —
Death's single privacy

920
We can but follow to the Sun—
As oft as He go down
He leave Ourselves a Sphere behin
’Tis mostly—following—

God permit industrious angels
Afternoons to play.
I met one,—forgot my school-mates,
All, for him, straightaway.
God calls home the angels promptly

Pain—has an Element of Blank—
It cannot recollect
When it begun—or if there were
A time when it was not—
It has no Future—but itself—

607
Of nearness to her sundered Thing
The Soul has special times—
When Dimness—looks the Oddity—
Distinctness—easy—se ems—

840
I cannot buy it’—'tis not sold’—
There is no other in the World’—
Mine was the only one
I was so happy I forgot

844
Spring is the Period
Express from God.
Among the other seasons
Himself abide,