Large Charity Doth Never Soil, But Only

The Better Part Of Every Man's Education Is That Which He Gives Himself.

Joy Comes, Grief Goes, We Know Not How.

The Don Quixote Of One Generation May Live To Hear Himself Called The Savior Of Society By The Next.

The Ash Her Purple Drops Forgivingly And Sadly, Breaking Not The General Hush; The Maple Swamps Glow Like A Sunset Sea, Each Leaf A Ripple With Its Separate Flush; All Round The Wood's Edge Creeps The Skirting Blaze, Ere The Rain Falls, The Cautious Farmer Burns His Brush.

O Chime Of Sweet Saint Charity, Peal Soon That Easter Morn When Christ For All Shall Risen Be, And In All Hearts New-born! That Pentecost When Utterance Clear To All Men Shall Be Given, When All Shall Say My Brother Here, And Hear My Son In Heaven!