Over our manhood bend the skies; Against our fallen and traitor lives The great winds utter prophecies; With our faint hearts the mountain strives, Its arms outstretched, the druid wood Waits with its benedicite And to our age’s drowsy blood Still shouts the inspiring sea.

Some day the soft Ideal that we wooed confronts us fiercely, foe-beset, pursued, and cries reproachful: Was it then my praise, and not myself was loved? Prove now thy truth; I claim of thee the promise of thy youth.

There is no better ballast for keeping the mind steady on its keel, and saving it from all risk of crankiness, than business.

Beauty hath no true glass, except it be in the sweet privacy of loving eyes.

It is by presence of mind in untried emergencies that the native metal of man is tested.

Men's thoughts and opinions are in a great degree vassals of him who invents a new phrase or re-applies an old epithet. The thought or feeling a thousand times repeated becomes his at last who utters it best.

A man is old when he can pass an apple orchard and not remember the stomachache.