He loved his kind, but sought the love of few, And valued old opinions more than new. - Park Benjamin, Sr.

Flowers are Love's truest language.

The mountain rill
Seeks with no surer flow the far bright sea,
Than my unchang'd affections flow to thee.

Press on! there's no such word as fail!
Press nobly on! the goal is near,—
Ascend the mountain! breast the gale!
Look upward, onward,—never fear!
Why shouldst thou faint? Heaven smiles above,
Though storm and vapor intervene;
That sun shines on, whose name is Love,
Serenely o'er Life's shadow'd scene.