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Self-interest is the most ingenious and persuasive of all the agents that deceive our consciences, while by means of it our unhappy and stubborn prejudices operate in their greatest force.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
Conscience
Deceive
Greatest
Prejudices
Interest
Operate
Force
Deceiving
Means
Stubborn
Self
Agents
Consciences
Mean
Prejudice
Persuasive
Unhappy
Ingenious

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Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger.
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Or, bide thou where the poppy blows With windflowers fail and fair.
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I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn.
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Winning isn't everything, but it beats anything in second place.
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And at my silent window-sill The jessamine peeps in.
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And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.
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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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The summer morn is bright and fresh, the birds are darting by. As if they loved to breast the breeze that sweeps the cool clear sky.
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I shall seeThe hour of death draw near to me,Hope, blossoming within my heart. . . .
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Features, the great soul's apparent seat.
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Truth crushed to the earth will rise again!
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A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
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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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To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.
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The hushed winds their Sabbath keep.
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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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Tender pauses speak The overflow of gladness, When words are all too weak.
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Gently - so have good men taught - Gently, and without grief, the old shall glide Into the new the eternal flow of things, Like a bright river of the fields of heaven, Shall journey onward in perpetual peace.
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And kind the voice and glad the eyes That welcome my return at night.
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The fiercest agonies have shortest reign And after dreams of horror, comes again The welcome morning with its rays of peace.
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