But, oh, when gloomy doubts prevail,I fear to call thee mine;The springs of comfort seem to fail,And all my hopes decline.Yet, gracious God, where shall I flee?Thou art my only trust;And still my soul would cleave to thee,Though prostrate in the dust. - Anne Steele
Gleaming shell of an outworn lie; fable of Right divine—You gained your crowns by heritage, but Blood was the price of mine.The throne that I won by blood and sweat , by Crom, I will not sellFor promise of valleys filled with gold, or threat of the Halls of Hell! - Robert E. Howard