One Always Begins To Forgive

The Weathercocks On Spires And Housetops Were Mysterious With Hints Of Stormy Wind, And Pointed, Like So Many Ghostly Fingers, Out To Dangerous Seas, Where Fragments Of Great Wrecks Were Drifting, Perhaps, And Helpless Men Were Rocked Upon Them Into A Sleep As Deep As The Unfathomable Waters.

In Love Of Home, The Love Of Country Has Its Rise.

Dreams Are The Bright Creatures Of Poem And Legend, Who Sport On Earth In The Night Season, And Melt Away In The First Beam Of The Sun, Which Lights Grim Care And Stern Reality On Their Daily Pilgrimage Through The World.

Love Her, Love Her, Love Her! If She Favours You, Love Her. If She Wounds You, Love Her. If She Tears Your Heart To Pieces – And As It Gets Older And Stronger, It Will Tear Deeper – Love Her, Love Her, Love Her!

Yes. He Is Quite A Good Fellow - Nobody's Enemy But His Own.