Anna Letitia Barbauld ( 3 of 3 )
The dead of midnight is the noon of thought.
The dead of midnight is the noon of thought.
When one by one our ties are torn, and friend from friend is snatched forlorn; When man is left alone read more
When one by one our ties are torn, and friend from friend is snatched forlorn; When man is left alone to mourn, oh! then how sweet it is to die!.
We neither laugh alone, nor weep alone, why then should we pray alone?
We neither laugh alone, nor weep alone, why then should we pray alone?
