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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
Earth
Rise
Years
Eternity
Eternal
Among
Worshippers
Shall
Crushed
Dies
Wounded
Pain
Error
Truth
Errors

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Follow thou thy choice.
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I shall seeThe hour of death draw near to me,Hope, blossoming within my heart. . . .
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And kind the voice and glad the eyes That welcome my return at night.
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All that tread, the globe are but a handful to the tribes, that slumber in its bosom.
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The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
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The gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds.
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I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn.
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Do not the bright June roses blow To meet thy kiss at morning hours?
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Stand here by my side and turn, I pray, On the lake below thy gentle eyes The clouds hang over it, heavy and gray, And dark and silent the water lies And out of that frozen mist the snow In wavering flakes begins to flow Flake after flake, They sink in the dark and silent lake.
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