Youth Comes But Once A

The Nimble Lie Is Like The Second-hand Upon A Clock; We See It Fly; While The Hour-hand Of Truth Seems To Stand Still, And Yet It Moves Unseen, And Wins, At Last, For The Clock Will Not Strike Till It Has Reached The Goal.

The Sky Is Filled With Stars, Invisible By Day.

Ah, To Build, To Build! That Is The Noblest Art Of All The Arts. Painting And Sculpture Are But Images, Are Merely Shadows Cast By Outward Things On Stone Or Canvas, Having In Themselves No Separate Existence. Architecture, Existing In Itself, And Not In Seeming A Something It Is Not, Surpasses Them As Substance Shadow.

Men Of Genius Are Often Dull And Inert In Society; As The Blazing Meteor, When It Descends To Earth, Is Only A Stone.

Shepherds At The Grange, Where The Babe Was Born, Sang With Many A Change, Christmas Carols Until Morn.