'Come hither, my boy, tell me what thou seest there?' 'A fool tangled in a religious snare.'

Lives in eternity's sun rise.

'Come hither, my boy, tell me what thou seest there?' 'A fool tangled in a religious snare.'

O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors: The north is thine; there hast thou build thy dark, Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs, Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.

Nothing can be more contemptible than to suppose Public Records to be true.

The moon, like a flower in heaven's high bower, with silent delight sits and smiles on the night.

Both read the Bible day and night, but thou read black where I read white.