I Would Rather Have A Nod From

Admire, Exult, Despise, Laugh, Weep For Here There Is Such Matter For All Feelings: Man! Thou Pendulum Betwixt A Smile And Tear.

Yet Still There Whispers The Small Voice Within, Heard Through Gain's Silence, And O'er Glory's Din; Whatever Creed Be Taught Or Land Be Trod, Man's Conscience Is The Oracle Of God.

They Never Fail Who Die In A Great Cause.

In Solitude, Where We Are Least Alone.

Never To Talk To Ones Self Is A Form Of Hypocrisy