A Torn Jacket Is Soon Mended; But

A Solid Man Of Boston; A Comfortable Man With Dividends, And The First Salmon And The First Green Peas.

'tis Always Morning Somewhere, And Abovethe Awakening Continents, From Shore To Shore,somewhere The Birds Are Singing Evermore.

Very Hot And Still The Air Was, Very Smooth The Gliding River, Motionless The Sleeping Shadows.

Music Is The Language Spoken By Angels.

God Sent His Singers Upon Earth With Songs Of Sadness And Of Mirth, That They Might Touch The Hearts Of Men, And Bring Them Back To Heaven Again.