Chill Penury Repress'd Their Noble Rage, And

Men Will Believe Anything At All Provided They Are Under No Obligation To Believe It.

The Time Will Come, When Thou Shalt Lift Thine Eyes To Watch A Long-drawn Battle In The Skies. While Aged Peasants, Too Amazed For Words, Stare At The Flying Fleets Of Wondrous Birds.

The Insect-youth Are On The Wing, Eager To Taste The Honied Spring, And Float Amid The Liquid Noon!

E'en From The Tomb The Voice Of Nature Cries, E'en In Our Ashes Live Their Wonted Fires.

Sweet Is The Breath Of Vernal Shower,/ The Bee's Collected Treasure Sweet,/ Sweet Music's Melting Fall, But Sweeter Yet/ The Still Small Voice Of Gratitude.