Like streams that keep a summer mind Snow-hid in Jenooary.

Large charity doth never soil, but only whitens soft white hands.

Metaphor is no argument, though it be sometimes the gunpowder to drive one home, and imbed it in the memory.

He who keeps his faith only, cannot be discrowned.

Again, now, now, again Plashes the rain in heavy gouts, The crinkled lightning Seems ever brightening... And loud and long Again the thunder shouts His battle-song, - One quivering flash, One wildering crash, Followed by silence dead and dull, As if the cloud, let go, Leapt bodily below To whelm the earth in one mad overthrow, And then a total lull.

Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide.

Life may be given in many ways, and loyalty to truth be sealed as bravely in the closet as the field.