Truth Never Hurt The Teller.

When The Liquor's Out, Why Clink The Cannikin?

We Shall March Prospering,-not Thro' His Presence; Songs May Inspirit Us,-not From His Lyre; Deeds Will Be Done,-while He Boasts His Quiescence, Still Bidding Crouch Whom The Rest Bade Aspire.

He Guides Me And The Bird. In His Good Time!

Praise Is Deeper Than The Lips

God's Justice, Tardy Though It Prove Perchance, Rests Never On The Track Until It Reach Delinquency.