Oh! I know this truth, if I know no other,That passionate Love is Pain's own mother.

There's one sad truth in life I've foundWhile journeying east and west -The only folks we really woundAre those we love the best.

If there be mortal without love,He wakes to no new life above.

Our souls should be vessels receivingThe waters of love for relievingThe sorrows of men.

Far from the city's dust and heat,I get but sounds and odors sweet.Who can wonder I love to stay,Week after week, here hidden away,In this sly nook that I love the best --This little brown house like a ground-bird's nest?

There is no sudden entrance into Heaven.Slow is the ascent by the path of Love.