Maxioms by Lord Alfred Tennyson
And grasps the skirts of happy chance,
And breasts the blows of circumstance.
And grasps the skirts of happy chance,
And breasts the blows of circumstance.
And lives to clutch the golden keys,
To mould a mighty state's decrees,
And shape the whisper read more
And lives to clutch the golden keys,
To mould a mighty state's decrees,
And shape the whisper of the throne.
The slow, sweet hours that bring us all things good.
The slow, sweet hours that bring us all things good.
We issued gorged with knowledge, and I spoke:
"Why, Sirs, they do all this as well as we."
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We issued gorged with knowledge, and I spoke:
"Why, Sirs, they do all this as well as we."
"They hunt old trails" said Cyril, "very well;
But when did woman ever yet invent?"
The great world's altar stairs
That slope through darkness up to God.
The great world's altar stairs
That slope through darkness up to God.
