When Christ Ascended Triumphantly From Star To

The Twilight Is Sad And Cloudy, The Wind Blows Wild And Free, And Like The Wings Of Sea-birds Flash The White Caps Of The Sea.

See Yonder Fire! It Is The Moon Slow Rising O'er The Eastern Hill. It Glimmers On The Forest Tips, And Through The Dewy Foliage Drips In Little Rivulets Of Light, And Makes The Heart In Love With Night.

The True Poet Is A Friendly Man. He Takes To His Arms Even Cold And Inanimate Things, And Rejoices In His Heart.

Never Idle A Moment, But Thrifty And Thoughtful Of Others.

With Many Readers, Brilliancy Of Style Passes For Affluence Of Thought; They Mistake Buttercups In The Grass For Immeasurable Gold Mines Under Ground.