Your Voices Break And Falter In The

But, When The Goddess' Work Is Done,the Woman's Still Remains.

Never A Tear Bedims The Eye That Time And Patience Will Not Dry.

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.

One Big Vice In A Man Is Apt To Keep Out A Great Many Smaller Ones.

When Folks Find I Ain't Afeard To Speak My Mind On Their Affairs, They Kinder Guess I'm Tellin' The Truth About My Own.