It'is Like A Book, I Think, This

God Gives All Men All Earth To Love, But Since Man's Heart Is Small, Ordains For Each One Spot Shall Prove Belov?d Over All.

We're Poor Little Lambs Who've Lost Our Way, Baa! Baa! Baa! We're Little Black Sheep Who've Gone Astray, Baa-aa-aa! Gentlemen-rankers Out On The Spree, Damned From Here To Eternity, God Ha' Mercy On Such As We, Baa! Yah! Bah!

You May Talk O' Gin And Beer When You're Quartered Safe Out 'ere, An' You're Sent To Penny-fights An' Aldershot It; But When It Comes To Slaughter You Will Do Your Work On Water, An' You'll Lick The Bloomin' Boots Of 'im That's Got It.

There's No Jealousy In The Grave.

Too Much Work And Too Much Energy Kill A Man Just As Effectively As Too Much Assorted Vice Or Too Much Drink.