Oh The Long And Dreary Winter! Oh

A Torn Jacket Is Soon Mended; But Hard Words Bruise The Heart Of A Child.

They Who Live In History Only Seemed To Walk The Earth Again.

Music Is The Language Spoken By Angels.

O Flower-de-luce, Bloom On, And Let The River Linger To Kiss Thy Feet! O Flower Of Song, Bloom On, And Make Forever The World More Fair And Sweet.

For The Structure That We Raise, Time Is With Materials Filled; Our To-days And Yesterdays Are The Blocks With Which We Build.