No Scene Of Mortal Life But Teems

Hail To The Chief Who In Triumph Advances!

What Various Scenes, And O! What Scenes Of Woe, Are Witness'd By That Red And Struggling Beam! The Fever'd Patient, From His Pallet Low, Through Crowded Hospitals Beholds It Stream; The Ruined Maiden Trembles At Its Gleam, The Debtor Wakes To Thought Of Gyve And Jail, The Love-lorn Wretch Starts From Tormenting Dream; The Wakeful Mother, By The Glimmering Pale, Trims Her Sick Infant's Couch, And Soothes His Feeble Wail.

Give Me An Honest Laugher.

Like The Dew On The Mountain, Like The Foam On The River, Like The Bubble On The Fountain, Thou Art Gone, And For Ever!

Just At The Age 'twixt Boy And Youth, When Thought Is Speech, And Speech Is Truth.