No Man Is Born Without

The End Of Man Is An Action, And Not A Thought, Though It Were The Noblest?

The Stifled Hum Of Midnight, When Traffic Has Lain Down To Rest, And The Chariot Wheels Of Vanity, Still Rolling Here And There Through Distant Streets, Are Bearing Her To Halls Roofed In And Lighted To The Due Pitch For Her; And Only Vice And Misery, To Prowl Or To Moan Like Night Birds, Are Abroad.

Music Is Well Said To Be The Speech Of Angels; In Fact, Nothing Among The Utterances Allowed To Man Is Felt To Be So Divine. It Brings Us Near To The Infinite.

Great Men Are The Inspired Texts Of That Divine Book Of Revelations, Whereof A Chapter Is Completed From Epoch To Epoch, And By Some Named History.

What Unknown Seas Of Feeling Lie In Man, And Will From Time To Time Break Through!