Be Thy Sleep Silent As Night Is,

O Suffering, Sad Humanity! O Ye Afflicted Ones, Who Lie Steeped To The Lips In Misery, Longing, Yet Afraid To Die, Patient, Though Sorely Tried!

Ah Me! What Wonder-working, Occult Science Can From The Ashes In Our Hearts Once More The Rose Of Youth Restore? What Craft Of Alchemy Can Bid Defiance To Time And Change, And For A Single Hour Renew This Phantom-flower?

I Like That Ancient Saxon Phrase, Which Calls, The Burial-ground God's-acre.

Simplicity In Character, In Manners, In Style; In All Things The Supreme Excellence Is Simplicity.

The Thoughts Of Youth Are Long, Long Thoughts