Words Writ In Waters.

I Will Neither Yield To The Song Of The Siren Nor The Voice Of The Hyena, The Tears Of The Crocodile Nor The Howling Of The Wolf.

Give Me A Spirit That On This Life's Rough Sea Loves T'have His Sails Filled With A Lusty Wind, Even Till His Sail-yards Tremble, His Masts Crack, And His Ship Run On Her Side So Low That She Drinks Water, And Her Keel Plows Air.

An Ill Weed Grows Apace.

He Is At No End Of His Actions Blestwhose Ends Will Make Him Greatest, And Not Best.

News As Wholesome As The Morning Air.