It'is Like A Book, I Think, This

If History Were Taught In The Form Of Stories, It Would Never Be Forgotten.

For All We Take We Must Pay, But The Price Is Cruel High.

The Tumalt And Shouting Dies, The Captains And The Kings Depart. Still Stands Thine Ancient Sacrifice, An Humble And A Contrite Heat. Lord God Of Hosts, Be With Us Yet, Lest We Forget, Lest We Forget.

It Is Always A Temptation To A Rich And Lazy Nation, To Puff And Look Important And To Say:- 'though We Know We Should Defeat You, We Have Not The Time To Meet You, We Will Therefore Pay You Cash To Go Away.'

No One Thinks Of Winter When The Grass Is Green.