A Man Is Ever Apt To Contemplate

The Rose Saith In The Dewy Morn, I Am Most Fair; Yet All My Loveliness Is Born Upon A Thorn.

I Have A Room Whereinto No One Enters Save I Myself Alone: There Sits A Blessed Memory On A Throne, There My Life Centres.

Observe This Dew-drenched Rose Of Tyrian Gardens A Rose Today. But You Will Ask In Vain Tomorrow What It Is; And Yesterday It Was The Dust, The Sunshine, And The Rains.

Hurt No Living Thing: Ladybird, Nor Butterfly, Nor Moth With Dusty Wing.

My Life Is Like A Faded Leaf, My Harvest Dwindled To A Husk: Truly My Life Is Void And Brief And Tedious In The Barren Dusk; My Life Is Like A Frozen Thing, No Bud Nor Greenness Can I See: Yet Rise It Shall - The Sap Of Spring; O Jesus, Rise In Me.