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Truth crushed to earth shall rise again,- The eternal years of God are hers But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his worshippers.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
Pain
Error
Truth
Errors
Earth
Rise
Years
Eternity
Eternal
Among
Worshippers
Shall
Crushed
Dies
Wounded

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Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger.
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The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky Are all asleep to-night.
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Difficulty is the nurse of greatness.
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The groves were God's first temples.
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Ah, why Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd and under roofs That our frail hands have raised?
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Gently - so have good men taught - Gently, and without grief, the old shall glide Into the new the eternal flow of things, Like a bright river of the fields of heaven, Shall journey onward in perpetual peace.
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Music is not merely a study, it is an entertainment wherever there is music there is a throng of listeners.
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Autumn, the year's last, loveliest smile.
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Yet will that beauteous image make The dreary sea less drear And thy remembered smile will wake The hope that tramples fear
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Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue.
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Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster children into strength and athletic proportion.
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I gazed upon the glorious sky And the green mountains round, And thought that when I came to lie At rest within the ground, 'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June When brooks send up a cheerful tune, And groves a joyous sound, The sexton's hand, my grave to make, The rich, green mountain-turf should break.
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Maidens hearts are always soft: Would that men's were truer!
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Father, thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns, thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun, Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, And shot towards heaven.
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Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth in her fair page.
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The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.
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A melancholy sound is in the air, A deep sigh in the distance, a shrill wail Around my dwelling. 'Tis the Wind of night.
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The sweet calm sunshine of October, now Warms the low spot upon its grassy mold The pur0ple oak-leaf falls the birchen bough drops its bright spoil like arrow-heads of gold.
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Adversity is the nurse of greatness which roughly rocks her patients back to health.
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