In Man's Most Dark Extremity Oft Succour

Love Will Subsist On Wonderfully Little Hope But Not Altogether Without It.

Heap On More Wood! - The Wind Is Chill; But Let It Whistle As It Will, We'll Keep Our Christmas Merry Still.

Stood For His Country's Glory Fast, And Nailed Her Colors To The Mast!

The Tear, Down Childhood's Cheek That Flows, Is Like The Dewdrop On The Rose; When Next The Summer Breeze Comes By And Waves The Bush, The Flower Is Dry.

Ridicule Often Checks What Is Absurd, And Fully As Often Smothers That Which Is Noble.