Gone before To that unknown and silent shore.

Science has succeeded to poetry, no less in the little walks of children than with men. Is there no possibility of averting this sore evil?

When true hearts lie wither'd And fond ones are flown, Oh, who would inhabit This bleak world alone?

Who has not felt how sadly sweet The dream of home, the dream of home, Steals o'er the heart, too soon to fleet, When far o'er sea or land we roam?

Ay, down to the dust with them, slaves as they are! From this hour let the blood in their dastardly veins, That shrunk at the first touch of Liberty's war, Be wasted for tyrants, or stagnate in chains.

There are like to be short graces where the devil plays host.

He is no lawyer who cannot take two sides.