Time Has Laid His Hand Upon My

Joy, Temperance, And Repose, Slam The Door On The Doctor's Nose.

A Thought Often Makes Us Hotter Than A Fire.

Our Faith Triumphant O'er Our Fears.

History Casts Its Shadow Far Into The Land Of Song.

Even The Blackest Of Them All, The Crow, Renders Good Service As Your Man-at-arms, Crushing The Beetle In His Coat Of Mail. And Crying Havoc On The Slug And Snail.