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The sad and solemn night hath yet her multitude of cheerful fires The glorious host of light walk the dark hemisphere till she retires All through her silent watches, gliding slow, Her constellations come, and climb the heavens, and go.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
Night
Silent
Cheerful
Constellations
Light
Watches
Climb
Hemisphere
Come
Walk
Climbs
Fires
Walks
Hath
Multitude
Fire
Host
Heavens
Stars
Glorious
Multitudes
Dark
Slow
Solemn
Retires
Heaven
Till
Retiring
Gliding

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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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Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook.
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God hath yoked to guilt her pale tormentor,--misery.
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Oh, river! darkling river! what a voice Is that thou utterest while all else is still-- The ancient voice that, centuries ago, Sounded between thy hills, while Rome was yet A weedy solitude by Tiber's stream!
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Fairest of all that earth beholds, the hues That live among the clouds, and flush the air, Lingering, and deepening at the hour of dews.
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War, like all other situations of danger and of change, calls forth the exertion of admirable intellectual qualities and great virtues, and it is only by dwelling on these, and keeping out of sight the sufferings and sorrows, and all the crimes and evils that follow in its train, that it has its glory in the eyes of men.
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When April winds Grew soft, the maple burst into a flush Of scarlet flowers. The tulip tree, high up, Opened in airs of June her multitude Of golden chalices to humming-birds And silken-wing'd insects of the sky.
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Truth crushed to the earth will rise again!
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Do not the bright June roses blow To meet thy kiss at morning hours?
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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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