Large Charity Doth Never Soil, But Only

Some Day The Soft Ideal That We Wooed Confronts Us Fiercely, Foe-beset, Pursued, And Cries Reproachful: Was It Then My Praise, And Not Myself Was Loved? Prove Now Thy Truth; I Claim Of Thee The Promise Of Thy Youth.

And But Two Ways Are Offered To Our Will, Toil With Rare Triumph, Ease With Safe Disgrace, The Problem Still For Us And All Of Human Race.

A Word Once Vulgarized Can Never Be Rehabilitated.

Endurance Is The Crowning Quality.

Life Seems A Jest Of Fate's Contriving.