Teach Him To Live Unto God And

There Is Delight In Singing, Though None Hear Beside The Singer.

Ah What Avails The Sceptred Race, Ah What The Form Divine! What Every Virtue, Every Grace! Rose Aylmer, All Were Thine. Rose Aylmer, Whom These Wakeful Eyes May Weep, But Never See, A Night Of Memories And Of Sighs I Consecrate To Thee.

Cats Like Men Are Flatterers.

There Is No Eloquence Which Does Not Agitate The Soul.

Many Love Music But For Music's Sake, Many Because Her Touches Can Awake Thoughts That Repose Within The Breast Half-dead, And Rise To Follow Where She Loves To Lead. What Various Feelings Come From Days Gone By! What Tears From Far-off Sources Dim The Eye! Few, When Light Fingers With Sweet Voices Play, And Melodies Swell, Pause, And Melt Away, Mind How At Every Touch, At Every Tone, A Spark Of Life Hath Glistened And Hath Gone.