God Hath Yoked To Guilt Her Pale

Oh, Constellations Of The Early Night That Sparkled Brighter As The Twilight Died, And Made The Darkness Glorious! I Have Seen Your Rays Grow Dim Upon The Horizon's Edge And Sink Behind The Mountains. I Have Seen The Great Orion, With His Jewelled Belt, That Large-limbed Warrior Of The Skies, Go Down Into The Gloom. Beside Him Sank A Crowd Of Shining Ones.

Difficulty Is The Nurse Of Greatness.

Poetry Is The Eloquence Of Verse.

Lay Down The Axe; Fling By The Spade; Leave In Its Track The Toiling Plough; The Rifle And The Bayonet-blade For Arms Like Yours Were Fitter Now; And Let The Hands That Ply The Pen Quit The Light Task, And Learn To Wield The Horseman's Crooked Brand, And Rein The Charger On The Battle-field.

Eloquence Is The Poetry Of Prose.