Sir, They Are A Race

Such Is The Constitution Of Man That Labor May Be Said To Be Its Own Re-ward.

Cruel With Guilt, And Daring With Despair, The Midnight Murderer Bursts The Faithless Bar; Invades The Sacred Hour Of Silent Rest And Leaves, Unseen, A Dagger In Your Breast.

Hunger Is Never Delicate.

Actions Are Visible, Though Motives Are Secret.

Life, To Be Worthy Of A Rational Being, Must Be Always In Progression; We Must Always Purpose To Do More Or Better Than In Time Past.