The Compensations Of Calamity Are Made Apparent

Solitary Converse With Nature; For Thence Are Ejaculated Sweet And Dreadful Words Never Uttered In Libraries. Ah! The Spring Days, The Summer Dawns, And October Woods!

There Is No Prosperity, Trade, Art, City, Or Great Material Wealth Of Any Kind, But If You Trace It Home, You Will Find It Rooted In A Thought Of Some Individual Man.

What School, College, Or Lecture Bring Men Depends On What Men Bring To Carry It Home In.

Every Thought Is Public, Every Nook Is Wide; Thy Gossips Spread Each Whisper, And The Gods From Side To Side.

The Passive Master Lent His Hand, To The Vast Soul Which O'er Him Planned.