Against Her Foes Religion Well

When Winter Stern, His Gloomy Front Uprears, A Sable Void The Barren Earth Appears; The Meads No More Their Former Verdure Boast, Fast-bound Their Streams, And All Their Beauty Lost; The Herds, The Flocks, In Icy Garments Mourn, And Wildly Murmur For The Spring's Return; From Snow-topp'd Hills The Whirlwinds Keenly Blow, Howl Through The Woods, And Pierce The Vales Below, Through The Sharp Air A Flaky Torrent Flies, Mocks The Slow Sight, And Hides The Gloomy Skies.

To Every Class We Have A School Assign'd, Rules For All Ranks, And Food For Every Mind: Yet One There Is, That Small Regard To Rule Or Study Pays, And Still Is Deem'd A School; That, Where A Deaf, Poor, Patient Widow Sits, And Awes Some Thirty Infants As She Knits; Infants Of Humble, Busy Wives, Who Pay Some Trifling Price For Freedom Through The Day. At This Good Matron's Hut The Children Meet, Who Thus Becomes The Mother Of The Street.

A Club There Is Of Smokers--dare You Come To That Close, Clouded, Hot, Narcotic Room? When, Midnight Past, The Very Candles Seem Dying For Air, And Give A Ghastly Gleam; When Curling Fumes In Lazy Wreaths Arise, And Prosing Topers Rub Their Winking Eyes.

There Is No Mind So Weak And Powerless As Not To Have Its Inclinations, And None So Guarded As To Be Without Its Prepossessions.

Anger Makes Us Strong, Blind And Impatient, And It Leads Us Wrong; The Strength Is Quickly Lost; We Feel The Error Long.