Nothing Dies So Hard, Or Rallies So

The Sun Does Not Shine For A Few Trees, And Flowers, But For The Wide World's Joy. The Lonely Pine On The Mountain-top Waves Its Sombre Boughs And Cries, 'thou Art My Sun.' And The Little Meadow Violet Lifts Its Cup Of Blue, And Whispers With Its Perfumed Breath, 'thou Art My Sun.' And The Grain In A Thousand Fields Rustles In The Wind, And Makes Answer, 'thou Art My Sun.' So God Sits Effulgent In Heaven, Not For A Favored Few, But For The Universe Of Life; And There Is No Creature So Poor Or So Low That He May Not Look Up With Childish Confidence And Say, 'my Father, Thou Art Mine.

The Mystery Of History Is An Insoluble Problem.

Be A Hard Master To Yourself - And Be Lenient To Everybody Else.

We Never Know The Love Of The Parent For The Child Till We Become Parents.

A Conservative Young Man Has Wound Up His Life Before It Was Unreeled. We Expect Old Men To Be Conservative But When A Nation's Young Men Are So, Its Funeral Bell Is Already Rung.