Autumn, The Year's Last, Loveliest Smile.

Much Has Seen Said Of The Wisdom Of Old Age. Old Age Is Wise, I Grant, For Itself, But Not Wise For The Community. It Is Wise In Declining New Enterprises, For It Has Not The Power Nor The Time To Execute Them; Wise In Shrinking From Difficulty, For It Has Not The Strength To Overcome It; Wise In Avoiding Danger, For It Lacks The Faculty Of Ready And Swift Action, By Which Dangers Are Parried And Converted Into Advantages. But This Is Not Wisdom For Mankind At Large, By Whom New Enterprises Must Be Undertaken, Dangers Met, And Difficulties Surmounted.

The Victory Of Endurance Born.

Thou Blossom Bright With Autumn Dew, And Colored With The Heaven's Own Blue.

Sustained And Soothed By An Unfaltering Trust, Approach Thy Grave, Like One Who Wraps The Drapery Of His Couch About Him, And Lies Down To Pleasant Dreams.

Old Ocean's Gray And Melancholy Waste.