Discipline Must Be Maintained.

When Death Strikes Down The Innocent And Young, For Every Fragile Form From Which He Lets The Panting Spirit Free, A Hundred Virtues Rise, In Shapes Of Mercy, Charity, And Love, To Walk The World And Bless It. Of Every Tear That Sorrowing Mortals Shed On Such Green Graves, Some Good Is Born, Some Gentler Nature Comes.

Of Little Worth As Life Is When We Misuse It, It Is Worth That Effort. It Would Cost Nothing To Lay Down If It Were Not.

Let Us Leave Our Old Friend In One Of Those Moments Of Unmixed Happiness Which, If We Seek Them, There Are Ever Some, To Cheer Our Transitory Existence Here. There Are Dark Shadows On The Earth, But Its Lights Are Stronger In The Contrast.

Some Happy Talent, And Some Fortunate Opportunity, May Form The Two Sides Of The Ladder On Which Some Men Mount, But The Rounds Of That Ladder Must Be Made Of Stuff To Stand Wear And Tear; And There Is No Substitute For Thorough-going, Ardent, And Sincere Earnestness.

As He Glided Stealthily Along, Creeping Beneath The Shelter Of The Walls And Doorways, The Hideous Old Man Seemed Like Some Loathsome Reptile, Engendered In The Slime And Darkness Through Which He Moved: Crawling Forth, By Night, In Search Of Some Rich Offal For A Meal.