Dobbin At Manger Pulls His Hay: Gone

What Is The World, O Soldiers? It Is I, I, This Incessant Snow, This Northern Sky.

An Hour's Terror Is Better Than A Lifetime Of Timidity.

His Are The Quiet Steeps Of Dreamland, The Waters Of No-more-pain; His Ram's Bell Rings 'neath An Arch Of Stars, "rest, Rest, And Rest Again.

God Has Mercifully Ordered That The Human Brain Works Slowly; First The Blow, Hours Afterwards The Bruise.

Dobbin At Manger Pulls His Hay: Gone Is Another Summer's Day.