Some People Stay Longer In An Hour

Out Of The Fragrant Heart Of Bloom, The Bobolinks Are Singing; Out Of The Fragrant Heart Of Bloom The Apple-tree Whispers To The Room, "why Art Thou But A Nest Of Gloom While The Bobolinks Are Singing?

Lord, For The Erring Thought Not Unto Evil Wrought: Lord, For The Wicked Will Betrayed, And Baffled Still: For The Heart From Itself Kept, Our Thanksgiving Accept. For Ignorant Hopes That Were Broken To Our Blind Prayer: For Pain, Death, Sorrow, Sent Unto Our Chastisement: For All Loss Of Seeming Good, Quicken Our Gratitude.

The Conqueror Is Regarded With Awe; The Wise Man Commands Our Respect; But It Is Only The Benevolent Man That Wins Our Affection.

There Will Presently Be No Room In The World For Things; It Will Be Filled Up With The Advertisements Of Things.

The Swelling And Towering Omnibuses, The Huge Trucks And Wagons And Carriages, The Impetuous Hansoms And The More Sobered Four-wheelers, The Pony-carts, Donkey-carts, Hand-carts, And Bicycles Which Fearlessly Find Their Way Amidst The Turmoil, With Foot-passengers Winding In And Out, And Covering The Sidewalks With Their Multitude, Give The Effect Of A Single Monstrous Organism, Which Writhes Swiftly Along The Channel Where It Had Run In The Figure Of A Flood Till You Were Tired Of That Metaphor. You Are Now A Molecule Of That Vast Organism.