From purest wells of English undefiled None deeper drank than he, the

Romance is always young.

The dreariest spot in all the land to Death they set apart;

They who wander widest lift No more of beauties’ jealous veils, Than

I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air;

Dear Lord and Father of mankind, Forgive our foolish ways! Re-clothe us

And a nameless longing filled her breast, – a wish, that she hardly dared to own, for something better than she had known.

His daily prayer, far better understood in acts than in words, was simply doing good.