Dead Men Have No Victory.

Oh, Trebly Blest The Placid Lot Of Those Whose Hearth Foundations Are In Pure Love Laid, Where Husband's Breast With Tempered Ardor Glows, And Wife, Oft Mother, Is In Heart A Maid!

May He Die With No Joy At His End, The Man Who Won't Be Troubled To Unlock The Keys Of His Heart And Make A Friend.

Time Will Cure You, But Now Is Your Grief Still Young.

If Your Life At Night Is Good, You Think You Have Everything; But, If In That Quarter Things Go Wrong, You Will Consider Your Best And Truest Interests Most Hateful.

The Care Of God For Us Is A Great Thing, If A Man Believe It At Heart: It Plucks The Burden Of Sorrow From Him.