My Hope, My Heaven, My Trust Must

True Love's The Gift Which God Has Given To Man Alone Beneath The Heaven: It Is Not Fantasy's Hot Fire, Whose Wishes Soon As Granted Fly; It Liveth Not In Fierce Desire.

The Willow Which Bends To The Tempest Often Escapes Better Than The Oak Which Resists It.

It Is The Privilege Of Tale-tellers To Open Their Story In An Inn, The Free Rendezvous Of All Travellers, And Where The Humour Of Each Displays Itself, Without Ceremony Or Restraint.

England Was Merry England, When Old Christmas Brought His Sports Again. 'twas Christmas Broach'd The Mightiest Ale; 'twas Christmas Told The Merriest Tale; A Christmas Gambol Oft Could Cheer The Poor Man's Heart Through Half The Year.

I Will Suppose That You Have No Friends To Share Or Rejoice In Your Success In Life — That You Cannot Look Back To Those To Whom You Owe Gratitude, Or Forward To Those To Whom You Ought To Afford Protection; But It Is No Less Incumbent On You To Move Steadily In The Path Of Duty — For Your Active Exertions Are Due Not Only To Society, But In Humble Titude To The Being Who Made You A Member Of It, With Powers To Serve Yourself And Others.