Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.

Oh for a single hour of that Dundee Who on that day the word of onset gave!

Before us lay a painful road, And guidance have I sought in duteous love From Wisdom's heavenly Father. Hence hath flowed Patience, with trust that, whatsoe'er the way Each takes in this high matter, all may move Cheered with the prospect of a brighter day.

The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an angel's wing.

Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

Not Chaos, not the darkest pit of lowest Erebus, nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out by help of dreams - can breed such fear and awe as fall upon us often when we look into our Minds, into the Mind of Man.

Life is divided into three terms - that which was, which is, and which will be. Let us learn from the past to profit by the present, and from the present, to live better in the future.