The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower.

But slaves that once conceive the glowing thought Of freedom, in that hope itself possess All that the contest calls for; spirit, strength, The scorn of danger, and united hearts, The surest presage of the good they seek.

A man renowned for repartee will seldom scruple to make free with friendship's finest feeling, will thrust a dagger at your breast, and say he wounded you in jest, by way of balm for healing.

The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower.

Lived in his saddle, loved the chase, the course, And always, ere he mounted, kiss'd his horse.

To impute our recovery to medicine, and to carry our view no further, is to rob God of His honor, and is saying in effect that He has parted with the keys of life and death, and, by giving to a drug the power to heal us, has placed our lives out of His own reach.

But, oh, Thou bounteous Giver of all good, Thou art, of all Thy gifts, Thyself thy crown!