Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon Like a magician extended his golden want o'er the landscape; Trinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and forest Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together.

It is Lucifer, The son of mystery; And since God suffers him to be, He too, is God's minister, And labors for some good By us not understood.

Every man has a paradise around him till he sins, and the angel of an accusing conscience drives him from his Eden.

Let him not boast who puts his armor on as he who puts it off, the battle done.

It is foolish to pretend that one is fully recovered from a disappointed passion. Such wounds always leave a scar.

When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music.

Man is always more than he can know of himself; consequently, his accomplishments, time and again, will come as a surprise to him.