On Wrongs Swift Vengeance Waits.

A Saint In Crape Is Twice A Saint In Lawn.

The Lamb Thy Riot Dooms To Bleed Today, Had He Thy Reason, Would He Skip And Play? Pleas'd To The Last He Crops The Flow'ry Food, And Licks The Hand Just Rais'd To Shed His Blood.

Is That A Birthday? 'tis, Alas! Too Clear; 'tis But The Funeral Of The Former Year.

Education Forms The Common Mind. Just As The Twig Is Bent, The Tree's Inclined.

Give Me Again My Hollow Tree A Crust Of Bread, And Liberty!