And So We Plough Along, As The

Ripe In Wisdom Was He, But Patient, And Simple, And Childlike.

Oh, How Beautiful Is The Summer Night, Which Is Not Night, But A Sunless, Yet Unclouded, Day, Descending Upon Earth With Dews And Shadows And Refreshing Coolness! How Beautiful The Long Mild Twilight, Which, Like A Silver Clasp, Unites Today With Yesterday!

Let Him Not Boast Who Puts His Armor On As He Who Puts It Off, The Battle Done.

Let The Dead Past Bury Its Dead!

We See But Dimly Through The Mists And Vapors; Amid These Earthly Damps What Seem To Us But Sad, Funereal Tapers May Be Heaven's Distant Lamps.