Most Progress Is Most Failure.

Sappho Survives, Because We Sing Her Songs; And Eschylus, Because We Read His Plays!

Sorrow, The Heart Must Bear, Sits In The Home Of Each, Conspicuous There. Many A Circumstance, At Least, Touches The Very Breast. For Those Whom Any Sent Away,--he Knows: And In The Live Man's Stead, Armor And Ashes Reach The House Of Each.

What A Thing Friendship Is - World Without End.

Mothers, Wives And Maids, These Be The Tools With Which Priests Manage Men.

This Could But Have Happened Once,- And We Missed It, Lost It Forever.