Bird of the broad and sweeping wing, Thy home is high in heaven, Where wide the storms their banners fling, And the tempest clouds are driven.

The world is full of poetry. The air is living with its spirit; and the waves dance to the music of its melodies, and sparkle in its brightness.

There are moments of life that we never forget, which brighten and brighten as time steals away.

One hour of thoughtful solitude may nerve the heart for days of conflict - girding up its armor to meet the most insidious foe.

King of the peak and glacier, King of the cold, white scalps, He lifts his head at that close tread, The eagle of the Alps.

He clasps the crag with hooked hands; Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ring'd with the azure world, he stands. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls: He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls.