Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, little breezes dusk and shiver, thro' the wave that runs forever by the island in the river, flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls and four gray towers, overlook a space of flowers, and the silent isle imbowers, the Lady of Shalott.

That which we are, we are, and if we are ever to be any better, now is the time to begin.

As she fled fast through sun and shade The happy winds upon her play'd, Blowing the ringlet from the braid.

Tis not too late to seek a newer world.

We cannot be kind to each other here for even an hour. We whisper, and hint, and chuckle and grin at our brother's shame; however you take it we men are a little breed.

Cast all your cares on God; that anchor holds.