There Comes Emerson First, Whose Rich Words,

In The Storm, Like A Prophet O'ermaddened, Thou Singest And Tossest Thy Branches; Thy Heart With The Terror Is Gladdened, Thou Forebodest The Dread Avalanches.... In The Calm Thou O'erstretchest The Valleys With Thine Arms, As If Blessings Imploring, Like An Old King Led Forth From His Palace, When His People To Battle Are Pouring.

He Gives Only The Worthless Gold Who Gives From A Sense Of Duty.

Behind The Dim Unknown, Standeth God With The Shadow, Keeping Watch Above His Own.

With Every Step Of The Recent Traveler Our Inheritance Of The Wonderful Is Diminished. Those Beautiful Pictured Notes Of The Possible Are Redeemed At A Ruinous Discount In The Hard Coin Of The Actual.

Worshippers Of Light Ancestral Make The Present Light A Crime.