May Is A Pious Fraud Of The

It Is By Presence Of Mind In Untried Emergencies That The Native Metal Of Man Is Tested.

Violet! Sweet Violet! Thine Eyes Are Full Of Tears; Are They Wet Even Yet With The Thought Of Other Years?

You've Gut To Git Up Airly Ef You Want To Take In God.

Through Aisles Of Long-drawn Centuries My Spirit Walks In Thought.

Joy Comes, Grief Goes, We Know Not How.