Truth, Crushed To Earth, Shall Rise Again.

Alas! To Seize The Moment When The Heart Inclines To Heart, And Press A Suit With Passion, Is Not A Woman's Part. If Man Come Not To Gather The Roses Where They Stand, They Fade Among Their Foliage, They Cannot Seek His Hand.

Music Is Not Merely A Study, It Is An Entertainment; Wherever There Is Music There Is A Throng Of Listeners.

These Struggling Tides Of Life That Seem In Wayward, Aimless Course To Tend, Are Eddies Of The Mighty Stream That Rolls To Its Appointed End.

The Summer Morn Is Bright And Fresh, The Birds Are Darting By. As If They Loved To Breast The Breeze That Sweeps The Cool Clear Sky.

So Live, That When Thy Summons Comes To Join, The Innumerable Caravan Which Moves, To That Mysterious Realm Where Each Shall Take, His Chamber In The Silent Halls Of Death, Thou Go Not, Like The Quarry-slave At Night, Scourged By His Dungeon, But, Sustained And Soothed, By An Unfaltering Trust, Approach Thy Grave, Like One Who Wraps The Drapery Of His Couch, About Him, And Lies Down To Pleasant Dreams.