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But Winter has yet brighter scenes-he boasts Splendors beyond what gorgeous Summer knows Or Autumn with his many fruits, and woods All flushed with many hues.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
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Boast
Splendors
Beyond
Gorgeous
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Many
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Flushed
Autumn
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Woods
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Winter
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Fruit
Fruits
Summer
Brighter

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Tender pauses speak The overflow of gladness, When words are all too weak.
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The press, important as is its office, is but the servant of the human intellect, and its ministry is for good or for evil, according to the character of those who direct it. The press is a mill which grinds all that is put into its hopper. Fill the hopper with poisoned grain, and it will grind it to meal, but there is death in the bread.
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Ah! never shall the land forget.
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He [William Henry Harrison] did not live long enough to prove his incapacity for the office of President.
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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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It is said to be the manner of hypochondriacs to change often their physician.
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It is a sultry day the sun has drunk The dew that lay upon the morning grass There is no rustling in the lofty elm That canopies my dwelling, and its shade Scarce cools me. All is silent, save the faint And interrupted murmur of the bee, Settling on the sick flowers, And then again Instantly on the wing.
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Virtue cannot dwell with slaves, nor reign O'er those who cower to take a tyrant's yoke.
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I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn.
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Sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
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Do not the bright June roses blow To meet thy kiss at morning hours?
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