Thiar Ain't No Sense In Gittin' Riled!

Which I Wish To Remark-- And My Language Is Plain,-- That For Ways That Are Dark And For Tricks That Are Vain, The Heathen Chinee Is Peculiar.

But Still When The Mists Of Doubt Prevail, And We Lie Becalmed By The Shores Of Age, We Hear From The Misty Troubled Shore The Voce Of Children Gone Before. Drawing The Soul To Its Anchorage.

The Only Sure Thing About Luck Is That It Will Change.

Don't Be Too Quickto Break Bad Habits: Better Stick,like The Mission Folk, To Your Arsenic.

And Then, For An Old Man Like Me, It's Not Exactly Right,this Kind O' Playing Soldier With No Enemy In Sight.