Blow Out The Light: There Is No Oil To Feed It: That Dim Blue Light Unworthy Of The Name. Better To Sit With Folded Hands, I Say, And Wait For Night To Pass, And Bring The Day, Than To Depend Upon That Flickering Flame. Take Back Your Vow: There Is No Love To Bind It: Take Back This Little Shining, Golden Thing. Better To Walk On Bravely All Alone, Than Strive To Hold Up, Or Retain Our Own, By Soulless Pledge, Or Fetter Of A Ring. When First The Lamp Was Lit, Too High You Turned It; The Oil Was Wasted In A Blinding Blaze. Your Passion Was Too Ardent In The Start - Set By The Lamp: Farewell. God Gird The Heart Through Darkened Hours, And Lone And Loveless Ways.