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The mind flies back with a grand recoil
From debts not due till to-morrow.
The mind flies back with a grand recoil
From debts not due till to-morrow.
A holy habit clenseth not a foule soule.
A holy habit clenseth not a foule soule.
Whither art thou rushing to destruction?
Whither art thou rushing to destruction?
He that knowes nothing, doubts nothing.
He that knowes nothing, doubts nothing.
A blustering night, a faire day.
A blustering night, a faire day.
But who would scorn the month of June,
Because December with his breath so hoary,
Must come? read more
But who would scorn the month of June,
Because December with his breath so hoary,
Must come? Much rather should he court the ray,
To hoard up warmth against a wintry day.
It's good walking with a horse in ones hand.
It's good walking with a horse in ones hand.
