The Arms Are Fair, When The Intent

Give Sorrow Words; The Grief That Does Not Speak Knits Up The O-er Wrought Heart And Bids It Break.

There Is Plenty Of Time To Sleep In The Grave

There Are No Tricks In Plain And Simple Faith.

Awake, Dear Heart, Awake. Thou Hast Slept Well. Awake.

I Have More Care To Stay Than Will To Go.