Better One Bite At Forty, Of Truths

The Pale And Quiet Moon Makes Her Calm Forehead Bare, And The Last Fragments Of The Storm, Like Shattered Rigging From A Fight At Sea, Silent And Few, Are Drifting Over Me.

Count Me O'er Earth's Chosen Heroes, - They Were Souls That Stood Alone, While The Men They Agonized For Hurled The Contumelious Stone, Stood Serene, And Down The Future Saw The Golden Beam Incline To The Side Of Perfect Justice, Mastered By Their Faith Divine, By One Man's Plain Truth To Manhood And To God's Supreme Design.

A Friendship Counting Nearly Forty Years Is The Finest Kind Of Shade-tree I Know.

Once To Every Man And Nation Comes The Moment To Decide.

A Word Once Vulgarized Can Never Be Rehabilitated.