Adversity Is The Nurse Of Greatness Which

All That Tread, The Globe Are But A Handful To The Tribes, That Slumber In Its Bosom.

Ere, In The Northern Gale, The Summer Tresses Of The Trees Are Gone, The Woods Of Autumn, All Around Our Vale, Have Put Their Glory On.

And We Wept That One So Lovely Should Have A Life So Brief.

Glorious Are The Woods In Their Latest Gold And Crimson, Yet Our Full-leaved Willows Are In The Freshest Green. Such A Kindly Autumn, So Mercifully Dealing With The Growths Of Summer, I Never Yet Have Seen.

Music Is Not Merely A Study, It Is An Entertainment; Wherever There Is Music There Is A Throng Of Listeners.