His Heart Kep' Goin' Pity-pat, But Hern

And What Is So Rare As A Day In June? Then, If Ever, Come Perfect Days.

They Have Rights Who Dare Maintain Them.

What Visionary Tints The Year Puts On, When Falling Leaves Falter Through Motionless Air Or Numbly Cling And Shiver To Be Gone! How Shimmer The Low Flats And Pastures Bare, As With Her Nectar Hebe Autumn Fills The Bowl Between Me And Those Distant Hills, And Smiles And Shakes Abroad Her Misty, Tremulous Hair!

Greatly Begin. Though Thou Have Time, But For A Line, Be That Sublime. Not Failure, But Low Aim Is Crime.

As One Lamp Lights Another, Nor Grows Less,so Nobleness Enkindleth Nobleness.