Love, To Her Ear, Was But A

Sordid Selfishness Doth Contract And Narrow Our Benevolence, And Cause Us, Like Serpents, To Infold Ourselves Within Ourselves, And To Turn Out Our Stings To The Entire World Besides.

O Come Ye In Peace Here, Or Come Ye In War, Or To Dance At Our Bridal, Young Lord Lochinvar?

Warriors! And Where Are Warriors Found, If Not On Martial Britain's Ground? And Who, When Waked With Note Of Fire, Love More Than They The British Lyre?

In Peace, Love Tunes The Shepherd's Reed; In War, He Mounts The Warrior's Steed; In Halls, In Gay Attire Is Seen; In Hamlets, Dances On The Green. Love Rules The Court, The Camp, The Grove, And Men Below, And Saints Above; For Love Is Heaven, And Heaven Is Love.

My Dear, Be A Good Man Be Virtuous Be Religious Be A Good Man. Nothing Else Will Give You Any Comfort When You Come To Lie Here. ...god Bless You All.