The Victory Of Endurance Born.

Maidens Hearts Are Always Soft: Would That Men's Were Truer!

Difficulty Is The Nurse Of Greatness.

The Moon Is At Her Full, And Riding High, Floods The Calm Fields With Light. The Airs That Hover In The Summer Sky Are All Asleep To-night.

And Kind The Voice And Glad The Eyes That Welcome My Return At Night.

A Silence, The Brief Sabbath Of An Hour, Reigns O'er The Fields; The Laborer Sits Within His Dwelling; He Has Left His Steers Awhile, Unyoked, To Bite The Herbage, And His Dog Sleeps Stretched Beside The Door-stone In The Shade. Now The Gray Marmot, With Uplifted Paws, No More Sits Listening By His Den, But Steals Abroad, In Safety, To The Clover-field, And Crops Its Juicy-blossoms.