There Are Nine-and-sixty Ways Of Constructing Tribal

It Was The Forty-fathom Slumber That Clears The Soul And Eye And Heart, And Sends You To Breakfast Ravening. They Emptied A Big Tin Dish Of Juicy Fragments Of Fish- The Blood-ends The Cook Had Collected Overnight. They Cleaned Up The Plates And Pans Of The Elder Mess, Who Were Out Fishing, Sliced Pork For The Midday Meal, Swabbed Down The Foc'sle, Filled The Lamps, Drew Coal And Water For The Cook, An Investigated The Fore-hold, Where The Boat's Stores Were Stacked. It Was Another Perfect Day - Soft, Mild And Clear; And Harvey Breathed To The Very Bottom Of His Lungs.

He Who Can Reach A Child's Heart Can Reach The Worlds Heart.

All The Money In The World Is No Use To A Man Or His Country If He Spends It As Fast As He Makes It. All He Has Left Is His Bills And The Reputation For Being A Fool.

At Two O'clock In The Morning, If You Open Your Window And Listen, You Will Hear The Feet Of The Wind That Is Going To Call The Sun. And The Trees In The Shadow Rustle And The Trees In The Moonlight Glisten, And Though It Is Deep, Dark Night, You Feel That The Night Is Done.

For It's "guns This" And "guns That," And "chuck 'em Out, The Brutes," But They're The "savior Of Our Loved Ones" When The Thugs Begin To Loot.