It is said to be the manner of hypochondriacs to change often their physician.

Poetry is the eloquence of verse.

Adversity is the nurse of greatness which roughly rocks her patients back to health.

These struggling tides of life that seem In wayward, aimless course to tend, Are eddies of the mighty stream That rolls to its appointed end.

To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.

Much has seen said of the wisdom of old age. Old age is wise, I grant, for itself, but not wise for the community. It is wise in declining new enterprises, for it has not the power nor the time to execute them; wise in shrinking from difficulty, for it has not the strength to overcome it; wise in avoiding danger, for it lacks the faculty of ready and swift action, by which dangers are parried and converted into advantages. But this is not wisdom for mankind at large, by whom new enterprises must be undertaken, dangers met, and difficulties surmounted.

Yet will that beauteous image make The dreary sea less drear And thy remembered smile will wake The hope that tramples fear