There Is In Souls A Sympathy With

We Turn To Dust, And All Our Mightiest Works Die Too.

God Forbid That Judges Upon Their Oath Should Make Resolutions To Enlarge Jurisdiction.

Oh To Have A Lodge In Some Vast Wilderness. Where Rumors Of Oppression And Deceit, Of Unsuccessful And Successful Wars May Never Reach Me Anymore.

Restraining Prayer, We Cease To Fight; Prayer Keeps The Christian's Armor Bright; And Satan Trembles When He Sees The Weakest Saint Upon His Knees.

The Things That Mount The Rostrum With A Skip, And Then Skip Down Again, Pronounce A Text, Cry Hem; And Reading What They Never Wrote Just Fifteen Minutes, Huddle Up Their Work, And With A Well-bred Whisper Close The Scene!