Age And Youth Look Upon Life From

Debt Rolls A Man Over And Over, Binding Him Hand And Foot, And Letting Him Hang Upon The Fatal Mesh Until The Long-legged Interest Devours Him.

The One Great Poem Of New England Is Her Sunday.

What If The Leaves Were To Fall A-weeping, And Say, "it Will Be So Painful For Us To Be Pulled From Our Stalks, When Autumn Comes?" Foolish Fear! Summer Goes, And Autumn Succeeds. The Glory Of Death Is Upon The Leaves; And The Gentlest Breeze That Blows Takes Them Softly And Silently From The Bough, And They Float Slowly Down, Like Fiery Sparks, Upon The Moss.

Where Human Life Needs Most Sympathy, Where Usually It Is The Most Barren, There It Is That Christ Is More Likely To Be Found Than Anywhere Else.

No Man Is Sane Who Does Not Know How To Be Insane On Proper Occasions.