Much in sorrow, oft in woe, Onward, Christians, onward go.

Much in sorrow, oft in woe, Onward, Christians, onward go.

So, on the eastern summit, clad in gray, morn, like a horseman girt for travel, comes, and from his tower of mist night's watchman hurries down.

Who shall contend with time,--unvanquished time, the conqueror of conquerors and lord of desolation?

Earthly pride is like the passing flower, that springs to fall, and blossoms but to die.

I do not like punishments. You will never torture a child into duty; but a sensible child will dread the frown of a judicious mother more than all the rods, dark rooms, end scolding school-mistresses in the universe.

The past is dead, and has no resurrection.