The Parson Knows Enough Who Knows A

A Glory Gilds The Sacred Page, Majestic Like The Sun, It Gives A Light To Every Age, It Gives, But Borrows None.

How Shall I Speak Thee, Or Thy Power Address Thou God Of Our Idolatry, The Press. . . . . Like Eden's Dead Probationary Tree, Knowledge Of Good And Evil Is From Thee.

Fancy, Like The Finger Of A Clock, Runs The Great Circuit, And Is Still At Home.

Unmissed But By His Dogs And By His Groom.

A Noisy Man Is Always In The Right.