Still stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow, Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping.Under the humble walls of the little catholic churchyard,In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and unnoticed;Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them,Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and forever,Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy,Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labors,Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey!

To say the least, a town life makes one more tolerant and liberal in one's judgment of others.

The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark

Make not thyself the judge of any man.

How like they are to human things!

Fair words gladden so many a heart.

Thinking the deed, and not the creed, Would help us in our utmost need.