Out Of The Shadows Of Night The

Men Of Genius Are Often Dull And Inert In Society; As The Blazing Meteor, When It Descends To Earth, Is Only A Stone.

Nature Paints Not; In Oils, But Frescoes The Great Dome Of Heaven; With Sunsets, And The Lovely Forms Of Clouds; And Flying Vapors.

Each Morning Sees Some Task Begun, Each Evening Sees It Close; Something Attempted, Something Done, Has Earned A Night's Repose.

The Spring Came Suddenly, Bursting Upon The World As A Child Bursts Into A Room, With A Laugh And A Shout And Hands Full Of Flowers.

Ah, The Souls Of Those That Die Are But Sunbeams Lifted Higher.