Ere, In The Northern Gale, The Summer

Glorious Are The Woods In Their Latest Gold And Crimson.

There Is A Day Of Sunny Rest For Every Dark And Troubled Night; And Grief May Hide An Evening Guest, But Joy Shall Come With Early Light.

The Right To Discuss Freely And Openly, By Speech, By The Pen, By The Press, All Political Questions, And To Examine The Animadvert Upon All Political Institutions Is A Right So Clear And Certain, So Interwoven With Our Other Liberties, So Necessary, In Fact, To Their Existence, That Without It We Must Fall Into Despotism And Anarchy.

A Sculptor Wields The Chisel, And The Stricken Marble Grows To Beauty.

That Make The Meadows Green; And, Poured Round All, Old Ocean's Gray And Melancholy Waste,-- Are But The Solemn Decorations All Of The Great Tomb Of Man.