Tis As Easy To Be Heroes As

Not Failure, But Low Aim, Is Crime.

An Appeal To The Reason Of The People Has Never Been Known To Fail In The Long Run.

Some Day The Soft Ideal That We Wooed Confronts Us Fiercely, Foe-beset, Pursued, And Cries Reproachful: Was It Then My Praise, And Not Myself Was Loved? Prove Now Thy Truth; I Claim Of Thee The Promise Of Thy Youth.

And Blessed Are The Horny Hands Of Toil.

Here Come The Hum The Golden Bees Underneath Full Blossomed Trees, At Once With Glowing Fruit And Flowers Crowned.