He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force, Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.

Happy days roll onward leading up to golden years.

All the windy ways of men Are but dust that rises up, And is lightly laid again.

A pasty costly-made, Where quail and pigeon, lark and leveret lay, Like fossils of the rock, with golden yolks Imbedded and injellied.

Cast all your cares on God; that anchor holds.

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

We are all a part of every person we have ever met.