There Is Nothing Perfectly Secure But Poverty.

Every Man Has His Secret Sorrows Which The World Knows Not; And Often Times We Call A Man Cold When He Is Only Sad.

Let Us Be Merciful As Well As Just.

Each Morning Sees Some Task Begin, Each Evening Sees It Close.

The Warriors That Fought For Their Country, And Bled, Have Sunk To Their Rest; The Damp Earth Is Their Bed; No Stone Tells The Place Where Their Ashes Repose, Nor Points Out The Spot From The Graves Of Their Foes. They Died In Their Glory, Surrounded By Fame, And Victory's Loud Trump Their Death Did Proclaim; They Are Dead; But They Live In Each Patriot's Breast, And Their Names Are Engraven On Honor's Bright Crest.

Being All Fashioned Of The Self-same Dust, Let Us Be Merciful As Well As Just