XXXVIII THROUGH the straight pass of su… The martyrs even trod, Their feet upon temptation, Their faces upon God.

410 The first Day’s Night had come— And grateful that a thing So terrible—had been endured— I told my Soul to sing—

UP with the sun, the breeze arose… Across the talking corn she goes, And smooth she rustles far and wid… Through all the voiceful countrysi… Through all the land her tale she…

939 What I see not, I better see— Through Faith—my Hazel Eye Has periods of shutting— But, No lid has Memory—

548 Death is potential to that Man Who dies—and to his friend— Beyond that—unconspicuous To Anyone but God—

669 No Romance sold unto Could so enthrall a Man As the perusal of His Individual One—

417 Is it dead—Find it— Out of sound—Out of sight— “Happy”? Which is wiser— You, or the Wind?

266 This—is the land—the Sunset washe… These—are the Banks of the Yellow… Where it rose—or whither it rushes… These—are the Western Mystery!

793 Grief is a Mouse— And chooses Wainscot in the Breas… For His Shy House— And baffles quest—

515 No Crowd that has occurred Exhibit—I suppose That General Attendance That Resurrection—does—