A Robin Redbreast In A Cage Puts

O Thou With Dewy Locks, Who Lookest Down Thro' The Clear Windows Of The Morning, Turn Thine Angel Eyes Upon Our Western Isle, Which In Full Choir Hails Thy Approach, O Spring! The Hills Tell Each Other, And The Listening Valleys Hear; All Our Longing Eyes Are Turned Up To Thy Bright Pavilions: Issue Forth, And Let Thy Holy Feet Visit Our Clime. Come O'er The Eastern Hills, And Let Our Winds Kiss Thy Perfumed Garments; Let Us Taste Thy Morn And Evening Breath; Scatter Thy Pearls Upon Our Love-sick Land That Mourns For Thee.

The Pride Of The Peacock Is The Glory Of God. The Lust Of The Goat Is The Bounty Of God. The Wrath Of The Lion Is The Wisdom Of God. The Nakedness Of Woman Is The Work Of God.

Everything Is Beautiful In Its Own Way. Exuberance Is Beauty.

Then Cherish Pity, Lest You Drive An Angel From Your Door.

Dear Mother, Dear Mother, The Church Is Cold, But The Ale-house Is Healthy And Pleasant And Warm.