Autumn, the year's last, loveliest smile.

Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster children into strength and athletic proportion.

I shall seeThe hour of death draw near to me,Hope, blossoming within my heart. . . .

Pain dies quickly, and lets her weary prisoners go; the fiercest agonies have shortest reign.

A herd of prairie-wolves will enter a field of melons and quarrel about the division of the spoils as fiercely and noisily as so many politicians.

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.

Still sweet with blossoms is the year's fresh prime.