Hope Has As Many Lives

Art Is Long, And Time Is Fleeting, And Our Hearts, Though Stout And Brave, Still, Like Muffled Drums, Are Beating Funeral Marches To The Grave.

After A Day Of Cloud And Wind And Rain Sometimes The Setting Sun Breaks Out Again, And Touching All The Darksome Woods With Light, Smiles On The Fields Until They Laugh And Sing, Then Like A Ruby From The Horizon's Ring, Drops Down Into The Night.

For Bells Are The Voice Of The Church; They Have Tones That Touch And Search The Hearts Of Young And Old.

I Dislike An Eye That Twinkles Like A Star. Those Only Are Beautiful Which, Like The Planets, Have A Steady Lambent Light, Are Luminous, But Not Sparkling.

Then Followed That Beautiful Season... Summer.... Filled Was The Air With A Dreamy And Magical Light; And The Landscape Lay As If New Created In All The Freshness Of Childhood.