We Never Pay Anyone Dane-geld, No Matter

Our Hearts Where They Rocked Our Cradle, Our Love Where We Spent Our Toil, And Our Faith, And Our Hope, And Our Honor, We Pledge To Our Native Soil. God Gave All Men All Earth To Love, But Since Our Hearts Are Small, Ordained For Each One Spot Should Prove Beloved Over All.

At Twenty The Things For Which One Does Not Care A Damn Should, Properly, Be Many.

There Are Gems Of Wondrous Brightness Ofttimes Lying At Our Feet, And We Pass Them, Walking Thoughtless, Down The Busy, Crowded Street. If We Knew, Our Pace Would Slacken, We Would Step More Oft With Care, Lest Our Careless Feet Be Treading To The Earth Some Jewel Rare.

There Are Nine-and-sixty Ways Of Constructing Tribal Lays, And Every Single One Of Them Is Right.

When Man Has Come To The Turnstiles Of Night, All The Creeds In The World Seem To Him Wonderfully Alike And Colorless.