The Fanatic Has The Courage Of His

Gracious To All, To None Subservient, Without Offense He Spoke The Word He Meant

Wide Open And Unguarded Stand Our Gates, And Through Them Presses A Wild Motley Throng, Men From The Volga And The Tartar Steppes, Featureless Figures Of The Hoang-ho, Malayan, Scythian, Teuton, Kelt, And Slav. Flying The Old World's Poverty And Scorn, These Bringing With Them Unknown Gods And Rites, Ttose, Tiger Passions, Here To Stretch Their Claws In Street And Alley. What Strange Tongues Are Loud Accents Of Menace Alien To Our Air, Voices That Once The Tower Of Babel Knew! O Liberty, White Goddess! Is It Well To Leave The Gates Unguarded?

They Fail, And They Alone, Who Have Not Striven.

My Father Invested His Money So Securely In The Banking Business That He Was Never Able To Get Any Of It Out Again.

The Laurels Of An Orator Who Is Not A Master Of Literary Art Wither Quickly.