Deeds, Not Words Shall Speak Me.

Weep No More, Nor Sigh, Nor Groan, Sorrow Calls No Time That 's Gone; Violets Plucked, The Sweetest Rain Makes Not Fresh Nor Grow Again.

Deeds, Not Words Shall Speak Me.

That Soul That Can Be Honest Is The Only Perfect Man.

He Who Goes To Bed, And Goes To Bed Sober, Falls As The Leaves Do, And Dies In October; But He Who Goes To Bed, And Goes To Bed Mellow, Lives As He Ought To Do, And Dies An Honest Fellow.

Man Is His Own Star, And The Soul That Can Render An Honest And A Perfect Man, Commands All Light.