Woe To The Youth Whom Fancy Gains,

The Rose Is Fairest When 't Is Budding New, And Hope Is Brightest When It Dawns From Fears. The Rose Is Sweetest Wash'd With Morning Dew, And Love Is Loveliest When Embalm'd In Tears.

Blessed Be His Name, Who Hath Appointed The Quiet Night To Follow The Busy Day, And The Calm Sleep To Refresh The Wearied Limbs And To Compose The Troubled Spirit.

It Is More Difficult To Look Upon Victory Than Upon Battle.

And Children Know, Instinctive Taught, The Friend And Foe.

But Search The Land Of Living Men, Where Wilt Thou Find Their Like Again?