O Thou Child Of Many Prayers! Life

I Love The Season Well When Forest Glades Are Teeming With Bright Forms, Nor Dark And Many-folded Clouds Foretell The Coming Of Storms.

Like Black Hulks The Shadows Of The Great Trees Ride At Anchor On The Billowy Sea Of Grass.

But The Good Deed, Through The Ages Living In Historic Pages, Brighter Grows And Gleams Immortal, Unconsumed By Moth Or Rust.

Youth Wrenches The Sceptre From Old Age, And Sets The Crown On Its Own Head Before It Is Entitled To It.

The Thoughts Of Youth Are Long, Long Thoughts