Follow Thou Thy Choice.

So Live, That When Thy Summons Comes To Join, The Innumerable Caravan Which Moves, To That Mysterious Realm Where Each Shall Take, His Chamber In The Silent Halls Of Death, Thou Go Not, Like The Quarry-slave At Night, Scourged By His Dungeon, But, Sustained And Soothed, By An Unfaltering Trust, Approach Thy Grave, Like One Who Wraps The Drapery Of His Couch, About Him, And Lies Down To Pleasant Dreams.

Eloquence Is The Poetry Of Prose.

The Fiercest Agonies Have Shortest Reign; And After Dreams Of Horror, Comes Again The Welcome Morning With Its Rays Of Peace.

Music Is Not Merely A Study, It Is An Entertainment; Wherever There Is Music There Is A Throng Of Listeners.

Still Sweet With Blossoms Is The Year's Fresh Prime.