There Is No Patriotic Art.

What Is Fruitful Alone Is True.

Over The Trackless Past, Somewhere, Lie The Lost Days Of Our Tropic Youth, Only Regained By Faith And Prayer, Only Recalled By Prayer And Plaint, Each Lost Day Has Its Patron Saint!

So Dear Night The Half Of Life Is, And The Fairest Half Indeed.

If You Want To Get Pleasure Out Of Life, You Must Attach Value To The World.

Truth Must Be Repeated Again And Again, Because Error Is Constantly Being Preached Round About.