Yes, Child Of Suffering, Thou May'st Well

And If I Should Live To Be The Last Leaf Upon The Tree In The Spring, Let Them Smile, As I Do Now, At The Old Forsaken Bough Where I Cling.

Yes, Child Of Suffering, Thou May'st Well Be Sure He Who Ordained The Sabbath Loves The Poor!

To Be Seventy Years Young Is Sometimes Far More Cheerful And Hopeful Than To Be Forty Years Old.

Chicago Sounds Rough To The Maker Of Verse. One Comfort We Have - Cincinnati Sounds Worse.

We Call Those Poets Who Are First To Mark, Through Earth's Dull Mist The Coming Of The Dawn, Who See In Twilight's Gloom The First Pale Spark, While Others Only Note That Day Is Gone.