Fuss Is The Froth Of Business.

Peace And Rest At Length Have Come, All The Day's Long Toil Is Past; And Each Heart Is Whispering, "home, Home At Last!"

Whilst Breezy Waves Toss Up Their Silvery Spray.

But Evil Is Wrought By Want Of Thought, As Well As Want Of Heart!

I Saw Old Autumn In The Misty Morn Stand Shadowless Like Silence, Listening To Silence, For No Lonely Bird Would Sing Into His Hollow Ear From Woods Forlorn, Nor Lowly Hedge Nor Solitary Thorn;- Shaking His Languid Locks All Dewy Bright With Tangled Gossamer That Fell By Night, Pearling His Coronet Of Golden Corn.

A Moment's Thinking Is An Hour In Words.