appalled,

Yes, Honor decks the turf that wraps their

clay.

Vain sophistry! in these behold the tools,

The broken tools, that tyrants cast away By myriads, when they dare to pave their way With human hearts-to what? a dream alone. BYRON.

The foe, the fool, the jealous, and the vain,
The envious, who but breathe in others' pain-
Behold the host! delighting to deprave,
Who track the steps of glory to the grave.
BYRON.

Alas for human greatness! and alas
For glory's splendor on a mortal brow!,
The stateliest realms must down to ruin pass,
And mightiest monarchs to a mightier bow.

EVEREST.

GLORY.

Glory is like a circle in the water,
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself,
Till by broad spreading it disperse to naught.

SHAKSPEARE.

Real glory

Springs from the silent conquest of ourselves; And without that the conqueror is naught But the first slave.

THOMSON.

Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright; But looked too near, have neither heat nor

light.

WEBSTER

And when upon his casque the lurid light
That men call glory dwelt, he turned away
Disgusted from the foul phosphoric light
That feeds on death and torture, blood and
tears,

And sighs from withering hearts.

L. J. PIERSON.

And false the light on Glory's plume
As fading hues of even;

And Love, and Hope, and Beauty's bloom,
Are blossoms gathered for the tomb:

There's nothing bright but heaven!

MOORE.

And while "Lord, Lord!" the pious tyrants cried,

Who in the poor their Master crucified,

ends.

Hath he not always treasures, always friends, The good great man? Three treasures, love,

and light,

And calm thoughts, equable as infant's breath; And three fast friends, more sure than day or night,

Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death. COLERIDGE.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.

BYRON.

In acts than words, was simply doing good.

WHITTIER.

Howe'er it be, it seems to me 'Tis only noble to be good.

TENNYSON.

More sweet than odors caught by him who sails

Near spicy shores of Araby the blest,
A thousand times more exquisitely sweet,
The freight of holy feeling which we meet
In thoughtful moments, wafted by the gales
From fields where good men walk, or bowers
Wherein they rest.

WORDSWORTH.

Our upward and our downward way;

And glorify for us the west,

When we shall sink to final rest.

WORDSWORTH.

To Him who feeds, who clothes, and who

adorns,

Who made, and who preserves whatever

dwells

In air, in steadfast earth, or fickle sea.

SMART.

O, all ye that e'er had savor

Of God's everlasting favor,

Come! come and help me grateful praises sing, To the world's King

And my life's Giver.

For his anger never lasteth,

And his favor never wasteth.

Though sadness be thy guest in sullen night,

The cheerful light
Will cheerful make thee.

DAVISON.

When shall our grateful raptures rise
Fast as thy grace descends,
And link to endless harmonies
The love that never ends?

ANONYMOUS.

mood;

Accept my thoughts for thanks: I have

no words.

imbued,

And sweeter swells the fount of woman's love.

COLTON.

HANNAH MORE.

[See also PRAISE.]