How many lives we live in one, And how much less than one, in all.
- Lived
- 1820–1871
- Born
- Cincinnati
- Died
- New York City
- Nationality
- United States
- Known as
- writer, poet, children's writer, novelist
- Era
- 19th century
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Works (5)
Desolate—Life is so dreary and desolate— Women and men in the crowd meet and mingle, Yet with itself every soul standeth single, Deep out of sympathy moaning its moan— Holding and having its brief exultation— Making its lonesome and low …
We serve Him most who take the most of His exhaustless love.
Yea, when mortality dissolves, Shall I not meet thine hour unawed? My house eternal in the heavens Is lighted by the smile of God!
My soul is full of whispered song,— My blindness is my sight; The shadows that I feared so long Are full of life and light.