Quote

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

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Error's monstrous shapes from earth are driven They fade, they fly--but truth survives the flight.
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It is said to be the manner of hypochondriacs to change often their physician.
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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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Features, the great soul's apparent seat.
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The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favourite phantom yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come, And make their bed with thee.
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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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Difficulty is the nurse of greatness.
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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.
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Beautiful isles! beneath the sunset skies tall, silver-shafted palm-trees rise, between full orange-trees that shade the living colonade.
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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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These struggling tides of life that seem In wayward, aimless course to tend, Are eddies of the mighty stream That rolls to its appointed end.
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Lo! while we are gazing, in swifter haste Stream down the snows, till the air is white, As, myriads by myriads madly chased, They fling themselves from their shadowy height. The fair, frail creatures of middle sky, What speed they make, with their grave so nigh Flake after flake, To lie in the dark and silent lake!
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A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.
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