“
I'm king of the dead—and I make my throneI gather them in, I gather them in!
— Park Benjamin, Sr.
I'm king of the dead—and I make my throneI gather them in, I gather them in!
Flowers are Love's truest language.
The mountain rillThan my unchang'd affections flow to thee.
Great faith it needs, according to my view,To trust in that which never could be true.
He loved his kind, but sought the love of few,And valued old opinions more than new.
But then to part! to part when TimeTo whisper but one word—farewell!
Pure and undimmed, thy angel smileHis plumage in the flashing waves.
Press on! there's no such word as fail!Serenely o'er Life's shadow'd scene.
Press on! If Fortune play thee falseFrom frailty springs! Press on, press on!
