Still Sweet With Blossoms Is The Year's

Heed Not The Night; A Summer Lodge Amid The Wild Is Mine, 'tis Shadowed By The Tulip-tree, 'tis Mantled By The Vine.

On Rolls The Stream With A Perpetual Sigh; The Rocks Moan Wildly As It Passes By; Hyssop And Wormwood Border All The Strand, And Not A Flower Adorns The Dreary Land.

There Is No Glory In Star Or Blossom Till Looked Upon By A Loving Eye; There Is No Fragrance In April Breezes Till Breathed With Joy As They Wander By.

Difficulty, My Brethren, Is The Nurse Of Greatness - A Harsh Nurse, Who Roughly Rocks Her Foster Children Into Strength And Athletic Proportion.

Genius, With All Its Pride In Its Own Strength, Is But A Dependent Quality, And Cannot Put Forth Its Whole Powers Nor Claim All Its Honors Without An Amount Of Aid From The Talents And Labors Of Others Which It Is Difficult To Calculate.