Though the flame of the sacrifice ascend to heaven, it still cries, "Bring gifts to the altar,--bring the wine of the banquet,--the incense of the temple,--the fuel of the hearth-stone.

Bring all, and still I crave.
Give all, I ask for more." Not then was this warning suggested.

To be wildly, passionately loved, was my heart's secret prayer.

Life itself would be a willing sacrifice to this devotion.

Suspicion that stood sentinel at the door of Faith, Distrust that threw its shadow over the sunshine of truth, and Jealousy, doubting, yet adoring still, would be welcomed as household guests, if the attendants of this impassioned love.