#Americans #Women #XIXCentury
XLVII IS Heaven a physician? They say that He can heal; But medicine posthumous Is unavailable.
267 Did we disobey Him? Just one time! Charged us to forget Him— But we couldn’t learn!
338 I know that He exists. Somewhere—in Silence— He has hid his rare life From our gross eyes.
922 Those who have been in the Grave… Those who begin Today— Equally perish from our Practise— Death is the other way—
38 By such and such an offering To Mr. So and So, The web of live woven— So martyrs albums show!
779 The Service without Hope— Is tenderest, I think— Because ’tis unsustained By stint—Rewarded Work—
293 I got so I could take his name— Without—Tremendous gain— That Stop-sensation—on my Soul— And Thunder—in the Room—
971 Robbed by Death—but that was easy… To the failing Eye I could hold the latest Glowing— Robbed by Liberty
157 Musicians wrestle everywhere— All day—among the crowded air I hear the silver strife— And—walking—long before the morn—
380 There is a flower that Bees prefe… And Butterflies—desire— To gain the Purple Democrat The Humming Bird—aspire—
234 You’re right—“the way is narrow”— And “difficult the Gate”— And “few there be”—Correct again— That “enter in—thereat”—
805 This Bauble was preferred of Bees… By Butterflies admired At Heavenly—Hopeless Distances— Was justified of Bird—
767 To offer brave assistance To Lives that stand alone— When One has failed to stop them— Is Human—but Divine
756 One Blessing had I than the rest So larger to my Eyes That I stopped gauging—satisfied— For this enchanted size—
13 Sleep is supposed to be By souls of sanity The shutting of the eye. Sleep is the station grand
