There Is Surely Room For Yet Another

Not Suffering, But Faint Heart, Is Worst Of Woes.

Evil Springs Up, And Flowers, And Bears No Seed, And Feeds The Green Earth With Its Swift Decay, Leaving It Richer For The Growth Of Truth.

A Woman's Love Is Mighty, But A Mother's Heart Is Weak, And By Its Weakness Overcomes.

For Men In Earnest Have No Time To Waste In Patching Fig-leaves For The Naked Truth.

It May Be Glorious To Write Thoughts That Shall Glad The Two Or Three High Souls, Like Those Far Stars That Come In Sight Once In A Century.