By Emily Dickinson She died, —this was the way she died; And when her breath was done, Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun. Her little figure at the gate The angels must have spied, Since I could never find her Upon the mortal side.

There’s a wideness in God’s mercy like the wideness of the sea; there’s a kindness in his justice, which is more than liberty, for the love of God is broader than the measure of one’s mind and the heart of the Eternal is most wonderfully kind. If our love were but more simple, we should […]