Bells, The Poor Man's Only Music.

This Is The Course Of Every Evil Deed, That, Propagating Still It Brings Forth Evil.

Farewell, Farewell! But This I Tell To Thee, Thou Wedding-guest! He Prayeth Well, Who Loveth Well Both Man And Bird And Beast.

Forth From His Dark And Lonely Hiding-place, (portentous Sight!) The Owlet Atheism, Sailing On Obscene Wings Athwart The Noon, Drops His Blue-fringed Lids, And Holds Them Close, And Hooting At The Glorious Sun In Heaven, Cries Out, ''where Is It?''

We Must Not Be Guilty Of Taking The Law Into Our Own Hands, And Converting It From What It Really Is To What We Think It Ought To Be.

Wherever You Find A Sentence Musically Worded, Of True Rhythm And Melody In The Words, There Is Something Deep And Good In The Meaning Too.