The First Day Of Spring Is One

If All The Skies Were Sunshine Our Faces Would Be Fain To Feel Once More Upon Them The Cooling Splash Of Rain. If All The World Were Music, Our Hearts Would Often Long For One Sweet Strain Of Silence, To Break The Endless Song If Life Were Always Merry, Our Souls Would Seek Relief, And Rest From Weary Laughter In The Quiet Arms Of Grief.

Peace Without Justice Is A Low Estate,— A Coward Cringing To An Iron Fate! But Peace Through Justice Is The Great Ideal,— We'll Pay The Price Of War To Make It Real.

For Ever So Our Thoughtful Hearts Repeaton Fields Of Triumph Dirges Of Defeat;and Still We Turn On Gala-days To Treadamong The Rustling Memories Of The Dead.

I'm Only Wishing To Go A-fishing;for This The Month Of May Was Made.

I Know That Europe's Wonderful, Yet Something Seems To Lack;the Past Is Too Much With Her, And The People Looking Back.