Poetry Had Breathed Over And Sanctified The

There Is Certain Relief In Change, Even Though It Be From Bad To Worse! As I Have Often Found In Traveling In A Stagecoach, That It Is Often A Comfort To Shift One's Position, And Be Bruised In A New Place.

The Scholar Only Knows How Dear These Silent, Yet Eloquent, Companions Of Pure Thoughts And Innocent Hours Become In The Season Of Adversity. When All That Is Worldly Turns To Dross Around Us, These Only Retain Their Steady Value.

History Fades Into Fable; Fact Becomes Clouded With Doubt And Controversy; The Inscription Molders From The Tablet: The Statue Falls From The Pedestal. Columns, Arches, Pyramids, What Are They But Heaps Of Sand; And Their Epitaphs, But Characters Written In The Dust?

Poetry Had Breathed Over And Sanctified The Land.

Who Ever Hears Of Fat Men Heading A Riot, Or Herding Together In Turbulent Mobs? No - No, Your Lean, Hungry Men Who Are Continually Worrying Society, And Setting The Whole Community By The Ears.