Through Woods And Mountain Passes

Each Morning Sees Some Task Begin, Each Evening Sees It Close.

It Is Foolish To Pretend That One Is Fully Recovered From A Disappointed Passion. Such Wounds Always Leave A Scar.

Let Us Then, Be Up And Doing.

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

Bell, Thou Soundest Merrily, When The Bridal Party To The Church Doth Hie! Bell, Thou Soundest Solemnly, When, On Sabbath Morning, Fields Deserted Lie!