Books Are Not Seldom Talismans

A Glory Gilds The Sacred Page, Majestic Like The Sun, It Gives A Light To Every Age, It Gives, But Borrows None.

God Made The Country, And Man Made The Town.

Time, As He Passes Us, Has A Dove's Wing, Unsoil'd, And Swift, And Of A Silken Sound.

When From Soft Love Proceeds The Deep Distress, Ah! Why Forbid The Willing Tears To Flow?

[my Kitten] Is Dressed In A Tortoise-shell Suit, And I Know You Will Delight In Her.