The Very Plants Turn With A Joyful

Weep, For The Light Is Dead.

On Dreary Night Let Lusty Sunshine Fall.

Joy, In Nature's Wide Dominion, Mightiest Cause Of All Is Found; And 'tis Joy That Moves The Pinion When The Wheel Of Time Goes Round.

What Reason, Like The Careful Ant, Draws Laboriously Together, The Wind Of Accident Sometimes Collects In A Moment.

Not Without A Shudder May The Human Hand Reach Into The Mysterious Urn Of Destiny.