In Commitment, We Dash The Hopes Of

There Is No Traitor Like Him Whose Domestic Treason Plants The Poniard Within The Breast That Trusted To His Truth

He Who Is Only Just Is Cruel; Who Upon The Earth Would Live Were All Judged Justly?

Be Thou The Rainbow In The Storms Of Life. The Evening Beam That Smiles The Clouds Away, And Tints Tomorrow With Prophetic Ray.

Grief Is Fantastical, And Loves The Dead, And The Apparel Of The Grave.

A Man Of Eighty Has Outlived Probably Three New Schools Of Painting, Two Of Architecture And Poetry And A Hundred In Dress.