The Nightmare Life-in-death Was She.

Therefore All Seasons Shall Be Sweet To Thee, Whether The Summer Clothe The General Earth With Greenness, Or The Redbreast Sit And Sing Betwixt The Tufts Of Snow On The Bare Branch Of Mossy Apple Tree.

In The Deepest Night Of Trouble And Sorrow God Gives Us So Much To Be Thankful For That We Need Never Cease Our Singing. With All Our Wisdom And Foresight We Can Take A Lesson In Gladness And Gratitude From The Happy Bird That Sings All Night, As If The Day Were Not Long Enough To Tell Its Joy.

It Is Saying Less Than The Truth To Affirm That An Excellent Book (and The Remark Holds Almost Equally Good Of A Raphael As Of A Milton) Is Like A Well-chosen And Well-tended Fruit Tree. Its Fruits Are Not Of One Season Only. With The Due And Natural Intervals, We May Recur To It Year After Year, And It Will Supply The Same Nourishment And The Same Gratification, If Only We Ourselves Return To It With The Same Healthful Appetite.

A Nation To Be Great Ought To Be Compressed In Its Increment By Nations More Civilized Than Itself.

In Wonder All Philosophy Began, In Wonder It Ends, And Admiration Fill Up The Interspace; But The First Wonder Is The Offspring Of Ignorance, The Last Is The Parent Of Adoration.