Joy In The Universe, And

Mounting Toward The Upland Again, I Pause Reverently, As The Hush And Stillness Of Twilight Come Upon The Woods. It Is The Sweetest, Ripest Hour Of The Day. And As The Hermit's Evening Hymn Goes Up From The Deep Solitude Below Me, I Experience That Serene Exaltation Of Sentiment Of Which Music, Literature, And Religion Are But The Faint Types And Symbols.

In The Order Of Nature We May Behold The Ways Of The Eternal.

Without Death And Decay, How Could Life Go On?

One May Return To The Place Of His Birth, He Cannot Go Back To His Youth.

One Can Return To Their Place Of Birth, But One Cannot Go Back To Your Youth.