234 You’re right—“the way is narrow”— And “difficult the Gate”— And “few there be”—Correct again— That “enter in—thereat”—

550 I cross till I am weary A Mountain—in my mind— More Mountains—then a Sea— More Seas—And then

88 As by the dead we love to sit, Become so wondrous dear— As for the lost we grapple Tho’ all the rest are here—

467 We do not play on Graves— Because there isn’t Room— Besides—it isn’t even—it slants And People come—

31 Summer for thee, grant I may be When Summer days are flown! Thy music still, when Whipporwill And Oriole—are done!

553 One Crucifixion is recorded—only— How many be Is not affirmed of Mathematics— Or History—

685 Not “Revelation”—'tis—that waits, But our unfurnished eyes—

623 It was too late for Man— But early, yet, for God— Creation—impotent to help— But Prayer—remained—Our Side—

A thought went up my mind to-day That I have had before, But did not finish,—some way back, I could not fix the year, Nor where it went, nor why it came

742 Four Trees—upon a solitary Acre— Without Design Or Order, or Apparent Action— Maintain—

644 You left me—Sire—two Legacies— A Legacy of Love A Heavenly Father would suffice Had He the offer of—

His voice decrepit was with Joy - Her words did totter so How old the News of Love must be To make Lips elderly That purled a moment since with G…