From the death of the old the new proceeds, and the life of truth from the death of creeds.
John Greenleaf Whittier
Falsehoods which we spurn to-day Were the truths of long ago.
The windows of my soul I throwWide open to the sun.
The Beauty which old Greece or Rome Sung, painted, wrought, lies close at home.
So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, And Maud was left in the field alone. But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, When he hummed in court an old love-tune
Beauty seen is never lost.
Life is ever lord of Death And Love can never lose its own.
Maud Muller, on a summer's day, Raked the meadows sweet with hay. Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth Of simple beauty and rustic health.
Beauty seen is never lost, God's colors all are fast.
A manly form at her side she saw, And joy was duty and love was law. Then she took up her burden of life again, Saying only, It might have been.
The smile of God is victory.
Speak out in acts; the time for words has passed, and only deeds will suffice.
The dreariest spot in all the land to Death they set apart; with scanty grace from Nature's hand, and none from that of Art.
They tell me, Lucy, thou art dead, that all of thee we loved and cherished has with thy summer roses perished; and left, as its young beauty fled, an ashen memory in its stead.
Clothe with life the weak intent, let me be the thing I meant.
Peace hath higher tests of manhood than battle ever knew.
Oh, for boyhood's painless play, sleep that wakes in laughing day, health that mocks the doctor's rules, knowledge never learned of schools.
How dwarfed against his manliness she sees the poor pretension, the wants, the aims, the follies, born of fashion and convention!
On leaf of palm, on sedge-wrought roll; on plastic clay and leather scroll, man wrote his thoughts; the ages passed, and lo! the Press was found at last!
Here Greek and Roman find themselves alive along these crowded shelves; and Shakespeare treads again his stage, and Chaucer paints anew his age.
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