And Children Know, Instinctive Taught,

In The Lost Battle, Borne Down By The Flying, Where Mingles War's Rattle With Groans Of The Dying.

In Listening Mood She Seemed To Stand, The Guardian Naiad Of The Strand.

A Few Drops Sprinkled On The Torch Of Love Make The Flame Blaze The Brighter.

There Never Will Exist Anything Permanently Noble And Excellent In The Character Which Is A Stranger To Resolute Self-denial.

See Yonder Rock From Which The Fountain Gushes; Is It Less Compact Of Adamant, Though Waters Flow From It? Firm Hearts Have Moister Eyes.