I Have Been Out Again On The

I Have Been Out Again On The River, Rowing. I Find Nothing New.

What Shall I Do With All The Days And Hours That Must Be Counted Ere I See Thy Face? How Shall I Charm The Interval That Lowers Between This Time And That Sweet Time Of Grace?

[on John Brown:] The Poor Wretch Is Hanged, But From His Grave A Root Of Bitterness Will Spring, The Fruit Of Which At No Distant Day May Be Disunion And Civil War.

They Frequently Find The Truth Who Do Not Seek It, They Who Do, Frequently Lose It.

My Chief Time For Reading Is At Night While Brushing My Hair Before I Go To Bed, And As You May Suppose, But Little Profit And Pleasure Can Be Derived From Such Mere Sips At The Well Of Knowledge. 'tis A Great Privation To Me, For My Desire For Information Increases Instead Of Diminishing, And I Look Forward With Great Anxiety To The Time When I Can Improve My Poor Neglected Mind And Learn Some Of The Few Exhaustless Store Of Things Which I Wish To Know.