Too Late For Fruit, Too Soon For

The Only Catalogue Of This World's Goods That Really Counts Is That Which We Keep In The Silence Of The Mind.

Poor Tired Tim! It's Sad For Him He Lags The Long Bright Morning Through, Ever So Tired Of Nothing To Do.

Look Thy Last On All Things Lovely, Every Hour

Dobbin At Manger Pulls His Hay: Gone Is Another Summer's Day.

As Soon As They're Out Of Your Sight, You Are Out Of Their Mind.