This is truth the poet sings . . .

And sweet and far as from a star, replied a voice which shall not cease, till drowning all the noise of war, it sings the blessed song of peace

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

So all night long the storm roared on: The morning broke without a sun; In tiny spherule traced with lines Of Nature’s geometric signs, In starry flake, and pellicle, All day the hoary meteor fell; And, when the second morning shone, We looked upon a world unknown, On nothing we could call our own. Around the glistening wonder bent The blue walls of the firmament, No cloud above, no earth below,— A universe of sky and snow!

Clothe with life the weak intent, Let me be the thing I meant.

Rest if you must, but never quit.

Children have neither past nor future - they rejoice in the present.