Democracy Gives Every Man The Right To

Not As All Other Women Are Is She That To My Soul Is Dear; Her Glorious Fancies Come From Far, Beneath The Silver Evening Star, And Yet Her Heart Is Ever Near.

Then To Side With Truth Is Noble When We Share Her Wretched Crust, Ere Her Cause Bring Fame And Profit, And 't Is Prosperous To Be Just; Then It Is The Brave Man Chooses, While The Coward Stands Aside, Doubting In His Abject Spirit, Till His Lord Is Crucified.

The True Historical Genius, To Our Thinking, Is That Which Can See The Nobler Meaning Of Events That Are Near Him, As The True Poet Is He Who Detects The Divine In The Casual; And We Somewhat Suspect The Depth Of His Insight Into The Past Who Cannot Recognize The Godlike Of To-day Under That Disguise In Which It Always Visits Us.

In The Parliament Of The Present Every Man Represents A Constituency Of The Past.

The Time Is Ripe, And Rotten-ripe, For Change; Then Let It Come: I Have No Dread Of What Is Called For By The Instinct Of Mankind. Nor Think I That God's World Would Fall Apart Because We Tear A Parchment More Or Less. Truth Is Eternal, But Her Effluence, With Endless Change, Is Fitted To The Hour; Her Mirror Is Turned Forward, To Reflect The Promise Of The Future, Not The Past. I Do Not Fear To Follow Out The Truth.