Poetry Is The Utterance Of Deep And

I Know A Good Many People, I Think, Who Are Bigots, And Who Know They Are Bigots, And Are Sorry For It, But They Dare Not Be Anything Else.

Those Old Ages Are Like The Landscape That Shows Best In Purple Distance, All Verdant And Smooth, And Bathed In Mellow Light.

Nature Satisfies My Thirst; It Feeds My Hunger; It Finds Me Clothing; It Affords Me Shelter; It Wraps Me Around When I Sleep With Beneficent And Watchful Care; And It Takes Me At Last To Its Great Bosom, Where My Ashes Mingle With Their Kindred Dust.

The Deepest Life Of Nature Is Silent And Obscure; So Often The Elements That Move And Mould Society Are The Results Of The Sister's Counsel And The Mother's Prayer.

However Logical Our Induction, The End Of The Thread Is Fastened Upon The Assurance Of Faith.