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On rolls the stream with a perpetual sigh The rocks moan wildly as it passes by Hyssop and wormwood border all the strand, And not a flower adorns the dreary land.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
Land
Sigh
Strand
Stream
Moan
Passes
Wildly
Perpetual
Desolation
Streams
Rolls
Borders
Strands
Rocks
Dreary
Adorns
Flower
Border
Wormwood

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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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The birch-bark canoe of the savage seems to me one of the most beautiful and perfect things of the kind constructed by human art.
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