Sweet flower, thou tellest how hearts as pure and tender as thy leaf, as low and humble as thy stem, will surely know the joy that peace imparts.

The thundering voice that wrings, in one dark, damning moment, crimes of years!

Green sods are all their monument; and yet it tells A nobler history than pillared piles, Or the eternal pyramids.

How awful is that hour when con, science stings.

Sweet flower, thou tellest how hearts as pure and tender as thy leaf, as low and humble as thy stem, will surely know the joy that peace imparts.

I am one who finds within me a nobility that spurns the idle pratings of the great, and their mean boasts of what their fathers were, while they themselves are fools effeminate.

There are moments of life that we never forget, which brighten and brighten as time steals away.