153 Dust is the only Secret— Death, the only One You cannot find out all about In his “native town.”

12 The morns are meeker than they wer… The nuts are getting brown— The berry’s cheek is plumper— The Rose is out of town.

Delight becomes pictorial When viewed through pain,— More fair, because impossible That any gain. The mountaln at a given distance

641 Size circumscribes—it has no room For petty furniture— The Giant tolerates no Gnat For Ease of Gianture—

932 My best Acquaintances are those With Whom I spoke no Word— The Stars that stated come to Tow… Esteemed Me never rude

698 Life—is what we make of it— Death—we do not know— Christ’s acquaintance with Him Justify Him—though—

970 Color — Caste — Denomination — These — are Time's Affair — Death's diviner Classifying Does not know they are —

I meant to find her when I came; Death had the same design; But the success was his, it seems, And the discomfit mine. I meant to tell her how I longed

217 Savior! I’ve no one else to tell— And so I trouble thee. I am the one forgot thee so— Dost thou remember me?