How Blunt Are All The Arrows Of

When It Draws Near To Witching Time Of Night.

Friendship! Mysterious Cement Of The Soul, Sweet'ner Of Life, And Solder Of Society.

Throughout The Whole Vegetable, Sensible, And Rational World, Whatever Makes Progress Towards Maturity, As Soon As It Has Passed That Point, Begins To Verge Towards Decay.

Industry Is Not Only The Instrument Of Improvement, But The Foundation Of Pleasure. He Who Is A Stranger To It May Possess, But Cannot Enjoy, For It Is Labor Only Which Gives Relish To Pleasure. It Is The Indispensable Condition Of Possessing A Sound Mind In A Sound Body, And It Is The Appointed Vehicle Of Every Good To Man.

Its Visits, Like Those Of Angels, Short, And Far Between.