The Thoughts Of Youth Are Long, Long

I Love An Author The More For Having Been Himself A Lover Of Books.

O Music! Language Of The Soul, Of Love, Of God To Man; Bright Beam From Heaven Thrilling, That Lightens Sorrow's Weight.

Art Is The Child Of Nature; Yes, Her Darling Child, In Whom We Trace The Features Of The Mother's Face, Her Aspect And Her Attitude, All Her Majestic Loveliness Chastened And Softened And Subdued Into A More Attractive Grace, And With A Human Sense Imbued. He Is The Greatest Artist, Then, Whether Of Pencil Or Of Pen, Who Follows Nature.

Be Still, Sad Heart! And Cease Repining; Behind The Clouds Is The Sun Still Shining; Thy Fate Is The Common Fate Of All, Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall

For Bells Are The Voice Of The Church; They Have Tones That Touch And Search The Hearts Of Young And Old.