Alas! the great world goes its way, And takes its truth from each new day; They do not quit, nor can retain, Far less consider it again.

Hope conquers cowardice, joy grief; Or at least, faith unbelief.

Where lies the land to which the ship would go? Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know. And where the land she travels from? Away, Far, far behind, is all that…

So in the sinful streets, abstracted and alone, I with my secret self held communing of mine own.

Perhaps the sentiments contained in the following pages, are not YET sufficiently fashionable to procure them general favour; a long habit of not thinking a th…

I pass times, I pass silences, formless worlds pass me by.

Can the 'word' be pinned down to either one period or one church? All churches are, of course, only more or less unsuccessful attempts to represent the unseen …