Softly The Evening Came /with The Sunset/.

Every Man Has A Paradise Around Him Till He Sins, And The Angel Of An Accusing Conscience Drives Him From His Eden.

In The Long Run Men Hit Only What They Aim At.

Let Us Then, Be Up And Doing.

It Is The Harvest Moon! On Gilded Vanes And Roofs Of Villages, On Woodland Crests And Their Aerial Neighborhoods Of Nests Deserted, On The Curtained Window-panes Of Rooms Where Children Sleep, On Country Lanes And Harvest-fields, Its Mystic Splendor Rests.

In The World's Broad Field Of Battle, In The Bivouac Of Life, Be Not Like Dumb, Driven Cattle! Be A Hero In The Strife!