Lose Who May-i Still Can

We Shall March Prospering,-not Thro' His Presence; Songs May Inspirit Us,-not From His Lyre; Deeds Will Be Done,-while He Boasts His Quiescence, Still Bidding Crouch Whom The Rest Bade Aspire.

Where The Apple Reddens Never Pry - Lest We Lose Our Edens, Eve And I.

God Smiles As He Has Always Smiled; Ere Suns And Moons Could Wax And Wane, Ere Stars Were Thundergirt, Or Piled The Heavens, God Thought On Me His Child; Ordained A Life For Me, Arrayed Its Circumstances, Every One To The Minutest; Ay, God Said This Head This Hand Should Rest Upon Thus, Ere He Fashioned Star Or Sun.

Genius Has Somewhat Of The Infantine; But Of The Childish Not A Touch Or Taint.

Ambition Is Not What Man Does... But What Man Would Do.