America May Have Great Poets

Nowhere In This Country, From Sea To Sea, Does Nature Comfort Us With Such Assurance Of Plenty, Such Rich And Tranquil Beauty As In Those Unsung, Unpainted Hills Of Pennsylvania.

War May Be An Armed Angel With A Mission, But She Has The Personal Habits Of The Slums.

Sitting By The Chimney Corner As We Grow Old, The Commonest Things Around Us Take On Live Meanings And Hint At The Difference Between These Driving Times And The Calm, Slow Moving Days When We Were Young.

No Man Surely Has So Short A Memory As The American.

These Great Turning-days Of Life Cast No Shadow Before, Slip By Unconsciously. Only A Trifle, A Little Turn Of The Rudder, And The Ship Goes To Heaven Or Hell.