Quotes from lathrap mary t

The beautiful feet of the summer, So late by the woodland and rill, With slow, lingering movement are going Down the brown, southern slopes of the hills; Her dreamy-eyed sister, the autumn, Looks down at the summer-clad trees, And, 'neath her cool breathing, a garment Of brown is put on by the leaves.

Man puts his proud heel on the heart of his brother, And smiles at the work he has done; And the wrongs that cry up to a pitying Heaven, Might blot from its arches the sun.

What tho' the clouds are o'er us? They cannot quench the flame That burns in freemen's bosoms-- 'Tis deathless as his name; Another year, and brightly Shall shine our clouded sun, No shadow o'er our country, The land of Washington.

Love's dream, too, knows decay; Awhile the soul-harp's wildly thrilling strain Pours out those notes we ne'er forget again, And the deep fountains of the heart burst forth As if to gladden every spot of earth; But O! it will not stay.

When we see an old tree dying Slowly in the solemn wood, To decay the proud strength yielding That a century has stood, We look on, and sadly wonder At the mighty wreck of time, As its potent finger traces Sure destruction, line by line.

Thou wishest fame! ambition in thy soul Bids thee toil onward to the distant goal, And holds the dazzling prize before the view, Fought for by many; gained by ah, how few!

Alas for my country, thy evergreen valleys, Are wet with a tide that is red, Alas for thy hills for they shudd'ringly cover War's sacrifice, bloody and dread!

It is beautiful, all, in its going, This wonderful, sweet summer time; The leaflets glide down through the sunshine, As poets thoughts glide into rhyme. Sweet Summer looks over her shoulder, And whispers once more her farewells-- I wonder if Peace will come with her When her feet are again on the hills.

Each heart has its graveyard, each household its dead, And knells ring around us wherever we tread, And the feet that awhile made our pathway so bright Pass on to a land that is out of our sight.

The meek stars are brightening up heaven's blue deep, The low winds are rocking the flowers to sleep, And the leaflet's soft, rustling melody seems Like some echo that comes from a beautiful dream.