All Great Poets Have Been Men Of

The Rose That Lives Its Little Hour Is Prized Beyone The Sculpted Flower.

These Struggling Tides Of Life That Seem In Wayward, Aimless Course To Tend, Are Eddies Of The Mighty Stream That Rolls To Its Appointed End.

Christ Taught An Astonishing Thing About Physical Death: Not Merely That It Is An Experience Robbed Of Its Terror But That As An Experience It Does Not Exist At All. To "sleep In Christ," Like One That Wraps The Drapery Of His Couch About Him, And Lies Down To Pleasant Dreams.

Ye Winds Ye Unseen Currents Of The Air, Softly Ye Played A Few Brief Hours Ago; Ye Bore The Murmuring Bee; Ye Tossed The Air O'er Maiden Cheeks, That Took A Fresher Glow; Ye Rolled The Round White Cloud Through Depths Of Blue; Ye Shook From Shaded Flowers The Lingering Dew; Before You The Catalpa's Blossoms Flew, Light Blossoms, Dropping On The Grass Like Snow.

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