And Children Know, Instinctive Taught, The Friend

Commend Me To Sterling Honesty Though Clad In Rags.

Land Of My Sires! What Mortal Hand Can E'er Untie The Filial Band That Knits Me To Thy Rugged Strand!

No Scene Of Mortal Life But Teems With Mortal Woe.

When Thinking About Companions Gone, We Feel Ourselves Doubly Alone.

A Lawyer Without History Or Literature Is A Mechanic, A Mere Working Mason; If He Possesses Some Knowledge Of These, He May Venture To Call Himself An Architect.