God's justice, tardy though it prove perchance, Rests never on the track until it reach Delinquency.
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
The common problem, yours, mine, everyone's Is ? not to fancy what were fair in life Provided it could be ? but, finding first What may be, then find how to make it fair Up to our means.
I was made and meant to look for you and wait for you and become yours forever.
Truth never hurt the teller.
Over my head his arm he flung, Against the world.