Such Was The Wreck Of The Hesperus,

The Natural Alone Is Permanent. Fantastic Idols May Be Worshipped For A While; But At Length They Are Overturned By The Continual And Silent Progress Of Truth, As The Grim Statues Of Copan Have Been Pushed From Their Pedestals By The Growth Of Forest-trees, Whose Seeds Were Sown By The Wind In The Ruined Walls.

The Atmosphere Breathes Rest And Comfort, And The Many Chambers Seem Full Of Welcomes.

Look, Then, Into Thine Heart, And Write! Yes, Into Life's Deep Stream! All Forms Of Sorrow And Delight, All Solemn Voices Of The Night, That Can Soothe Thee, Or Affright, - Be These Henceforth Thy Theme. (excerpt From "voices Of The Night")

Not In The Clamor Of The Crowded Street, Not In The Shouts And Plaudits Of The Throng, But In Ourselves, Are Triumph And Defeat.

Big Words Do Not Smite Like War-clubs, Boastful Breath Is Not A Bow-string, Taunts Are Not So Sharp As Arrows, Deeds Are Better Things Than Words Are, Actions Mightier Than Boastings.