Tradition wears a snowy beard, romance is always young.

Reason's voice and God's, Nature's and Duty's, never are at odds.

Flowers spring to blossom where she walks The careful ways of duty; Our hard, stiff lines of life with her Are flowing curves of beauty.

I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air; I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care.

The laws of changeless justice bind oppressor and oppressed; and, close as sin and suffering joined we march to fate abreast.

For all sad words of tongue and pen, The saddest are these, 'It might have been'.

Peace hath higher tests of manhood, than battle ever knew.