A Stoic Of The Woods,--a

Love's A Fire That Needs Renewal Of Fresh Beauty For Its Fuel.

On Linden, When The Sun Was Low, All Bloodless Lay The Untrodden Snow, And Dark As Winter Was The Flow Of Iser, Rolling Rapidly.

Our Land, The First Garden Of Liberty's Tree-- It Has Been, And Shall Be, The Land Of The Free.

Who Hail Thee, Man! The Pilgrim Of The Day, Spouse Of The Worm, And Brother Of The Clay.

One Moment May With Bliss Repay Unnumbered Hours Of Pain.