The Jest Loses Its Point When He

Have Hope. Though Clouds Environs Now, And Gladness Hides Her Face In Scorn, Put Thou The Shadow From Thy Brow, - No Night But Hath Its Morn.

Spring Flies, And With It All The Train It Leads; And Flowers, In Fading, Leave Us But Their Seeds.

The Zeal Of Friends It Is That Razes Me, And Not The Hate Of Enemies.

Even In A Righteous Cause Force Is A Fearful Thing.

The Dictates Of The Heart Are The Voice Of Fate.