Some Feelings Are To Mortals Given With

A Christmas Gambol Oft Could Cheer The Poor Man's Heart Through Half The Year.

Never Was Flattery Lost On A Poet's Ear; A Simple Race, They Waste Their Toil For The Vain Tribute Of A Smile.

One Hour Of Life, Crowded To The Full With Glorious Action, And Filled With Noble Risks, Is Worth Whole Years Of Those Mean Observances Of Paltry Decorum, In Which Men Steal Through Existence, Like Sluggish Waters Through A Marsh, Without Either Honor Or Observation.

"charge, Chester, Charge! On, Stanley, On!" Were The Last Words Of Marmion.

It 's No Fish Ye 're Buying, It 's Men's Lives.