Every Man Is In Some Sort A

Let Nothing Disturb Thee, Nothing Affright Thee; All Things Are Passing; God Never Changeth; Patient Endurance Attaineth To All Things; Who God Possesseth In Nothing Is Wanting; Alone God Sufficeth.

Many Have Genius, But, Wanting Art, Are Forever Dumb. The Two Must Go Together To Form The Great Poet, Painter, Or Sculptor.

Look, Then, Into Thine Heart, And Write!

The Day Is Cold, And Dark, And Dreary; It Rains, And The Wind Is Never Weary; The Vine Still Clings To The Mouldering Wall, But At Every Gust The Dead Leaves Fall, And The Day Is Dark And Dreary. My Life Is Cold, And Dark, And Dreary; It Rains, And The Wind Is Never Weary; My Thoughts Still Cling To The Mouldering Past, But The Hopes Of Youth Fall Thick In The Blast, And The Days Are Dark And Dreary. Be Still, Sad Heart! And Cease Repining; Behind The Clouds Is The Sun Still Shining; Thy Fate Is The Common Fate Of All, Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall, Some Days Must Be Dark And Dreary.

Even The Blackest Of Them All, The Crow, Renders Good Service As Your Man-at-arms, Crushing The Beetle In His Coat Of Mail. And Crying Havoc On The Slug And Snail.