You Will Always Find That

No Vernal Blooms Their Torpid Rocks Array, But Winter Lingering Chills The Lap Of May; No Zephyr Fondly Sues The Mountain's Breast, But Meteors Glare, And Stormy Glooms Invest.

As For Murmurs, Mother, We Grumble A Little Now And Then, To Be Sure; But There's No Love Lost Between Us.

Trade's Proud Empire Hastes To Swift Decay.

And Fools Who Came To Scoff Remain'd To Pray.

If One Wishes To Become Rich They Must Appear Rich.