Welcome As The Flowers In May.

A Glass Of Good Wine Is A Gracious Creature, And Reconciles Poor Mortality To Itself And That Is What Few Things Can Do.

You Will, I Trust, Resemble A Forest Plant, Which Has Indeed, By Some Accident, Been Brought Up In The Greenhouse, And Thus Rendered Delicate And Effeminate, But Which Regains Its Native Firmness And Tenacity, When Exposed For A Season To The Winter Air.

A Few Drops Sprinkled On The Torch Of Love Make The Flame Blaze The Brighter.

Merrily, Merrily Goes The Bark On A Breeze From The Northward Free, So Shoots Through The Morning Sky The Lark, Or The Swan Through The Summer Sea.

I Will Suppose That You Have No Friends To Share Or Rejoice In Your Success In Life — That You Cannot Look Back To Those To Whom You Owe Gratitude, Or Forward To Those To Whom You Ought To Afford Protection; But It Is No Less Incumbent On You To Move Steadily In The Path Of Duty — For Your Active Exertions Are Due Not Only To Society, But In Humble Titude To The Being Who Made You A Member Of It, With Powers To Serve Yourself And Others.