Some Poems Are Like The Centaurs--a Mingling

Our Faith Triumphant O'er Our Fears.

Man Is Unjust, But God Is Just; And Finally Justice Triumphs.

Ah, To Build, To Build! That Is The Noblest Art Of All The Arts. Painting And Sculpture Are But Images, Are Merely Shadows Cast By Outward Things On Stone Or Canvas, Having In Themselves No Separate Existence. Architecture, Existing In Itself, And Not In Seeming A Something It Is Not, Surpasses Them As Substance Shadow.

And The Wind Plays On Those Great Sonorous Harps, The Shrouds And Masts Of Ships.

Among The Noblest In The Land - Though Man May Count Himself The Least - That Man I Honor And Revere, Who Without Favor, Without Fear, In The Great City Dares To Stand, The Friend Of Every Friendless Beast.