There's Not A Note Of Mine That's

Come The Three Corners Of The World In Arms, And We Shall Shock Them.

Like One Who Draws The Model Of A House Beyond His Power To Build It Who, Half Through, Gives O'er, And Leaves His Part-created Cost A Naked Subject To The Weeping Clouds.

Those, That With Haste Will Make A Mighty Fire, Begin It With Weak Straws.

Prosperity's The Very Bond Of Love.

And Some That Smile Have In Their Hearts, I Fear, Millions Of Mischiefs.