Truth, Crushed To Earth, Shall Rise Again.

Poetry Is That Art Which Selects And Arranges The Symbols Of Thought In Such A Manner As To Excite The Imagination The Most Powerfully And Delightfully.

A Sculptor Wields The Chisel, And The Stricken Marble Grows To Beauty.

The Sweet Calm Sunshine Of October, Now Warms The Low Spot; Upon Its Grassy Mold The Pur0ple Oak-leaf Falls; The Birchen Bough Drops Its Bright Spoil Like Arrow-heads Of Gold.

Loveliest Of Lovely Things Are They, On Earth, That Soonest Pass Away. The Rose That Lives Its Little Hour Is Prized Beyond The Sculptured Flower.

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