Death, With Funereal Shades In Vain Surrounds

Man, Man, Is Thy Brother, And Thy Father Is God.

Joy Is A Flame Which Association Alone Can Keep Alive, And Which Goes Out Unless Communicated.

Hence Life, As Through A Cloud, For Me I See Vanish, And To The Past's Dark Shade 'tis Chas'd; As A Grand Image Love Remains To Me-- Sole Remnant Of A Dream, By Morn Effac'd.

The Death Of A Man's Wife Is Like Cutting Down An Ancient Oak That Has Long Shaded The Family Mansion. Henceforth The Glare Of The World, With Its Cares And Vicissitudes Falls Upon The Old Widower's Heart, And There Is Nothing To Break Their Force, Or Shield Him From The Full Weight Of Misfortune. It Is As If His Right Hand Were Withered; As If One Wing Of His Angel Was Broken, And Every Movement That He Made Brought Him To The Ground.

God Has Placed The Genius Of Women In Their Hearts, Because The Works Of This Genius Are Always Works Of Love.