For The Poor Wren (the Most Diminutive

The Horn, The Horn, The Lusty Horn Is Not A Thing To Laugh To Scorn.

Men Must Learn Now With Pity To Dispense; For Policy Sits Above Conscience.

All Thy Vexations Were But My Trials Of Thy Love, And Thou Hast Strangely Stood The Test; Here, Afore Heaven, I Ratify This My Rich Gift.

Death Lies On Her Like An Untimely Frost.

Thy Wish Was Father, Harry, To That Thought.