Who hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of the day, spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay.

Love! the surviving gift of Heaven, The choicest sweet of Paradise, In life's else bitter cup distilled.

Our land, the first garden of liberty's tree-- It has been, and shall be, the land of the free.

The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn, Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return.

Love's a fire that needs renewal Of fresh beauty for its fuel.

the soul of conversation is sympathy

Better be courted and jilted Than never be courted at all.