Every Human Heart Is Human.

Art Is The Child Of Nature; Yes, Her Darling Child, In Whom We Trace The Features Of The Mother's Face, Her Aspect And Her Attitude, All Her Majestic Loveliness Chastened And Softened And Subdued Into A More Attractive Grace, And With A Human Sense Imbued. He Is The Greatest Artist, Then, Whether Of Pencil Or Of Pen, Who Follows Nature.

But The Good Deed, Through The Ages Living In Historic Pages, Brighter Grows And Gleams Immortal, Unconsumed By Moth Or Rust.

Feeling Is Deep And Still; And The Word That Floats On The Surface Is As The Tossing Buoy, That Betrays Where The Anchor Is Hidden.

Chill Air And Wintry Winds! My Ear Has Grown Familiar With Your Song; I Hear It In The Opening Year, I Listen, And It Cheers Me Long.

Think Not Because No Man Sees, Such Things Will Remain Unseen.