The Present Is Our Own; But While

The Waste Of Plenty Is The Resource Of Scarcity.

But Though First Love's Impassioned Blindness Has Passed Away In Colder Light, I Still Have Thought Of You With Kindness, And Shall Do, Till Our Last Goodnight. The Ever-rolling Silent Hours Will Bring A Time We Shall Not Know, When Our Young Days Of Gathering Flowers Will Be An Hundred Years Ago.

Death Comes To All. His Cold And Sapless Hand Waves O'er The World, And Beckons Us Away. Who Shall Resist The Summons?

Nothing Can Be More Obvious Than That All Animals Were Created Solely And Exclusively For The Use Of Man.

Time, The Foe Of Man's Dominion, Wheels Around In Ceaseless Flight, Scattering From His Hoary Pinion Shades Of Everlasting Night.