Have but one God: thy knees were… If bent in prayer to three or four… Adore no images save those The coinage of thy country shows. Take not the Name in vain. Direct

‘What is that, mother?’ ‘The funny man, child. His hands are black, but his heart… ‘May I touch him, mother?’ ‘T were foolishly done:

I saw-’t was in a dream, the other… A man whose hair with age was thin… One hundred years had bettered by… And still his step was firm, his e… Before him and about him pressed a…

He lay on his bed and solemnly ‘si… Gasping-perhaps ‘twas a jest he me… ’This of a sound and disposing min… Is the last ill-will and contestam…

It is the gallant Seventh It fyghteth faste and free! God wot the where it fyghteth I ne desyre to be. The Gonfalon it flyeth,

How well this man unfolded to our… The world’s beliefs of Death and… This man whose own convictions non… Nor if his maze of reason had a cl… Dogmas he wrote for daily bread, b…

I step from the door with a shiver (This fog is uncommonly cold) And ask myself: What did I give h… The maiden a trifle gone-old, With the head of gray hair that wa…

What! ‘Out of danger?’ Can the sl… Or canting Pharisee no more defam… Will Treachery caress my hand no… Nor Hatred lie alurk about my doo… Ingratitude, with benefits dismiss…

‘Lothario is very low,’ So all the doctors tell. Nay, nay, not _so_-he will be, tho… If ever he get well.

‘Tis a woeful yarn,’ said the sail… Who had sailed the northern-lakes 'No woefuler one has ever been tol… Exceptin’ them called ‘fakes.’ ‘Go on, thou son of the wind and f…

'What’s in the paper?' Oh, it’s d… There’s nothing happening at all-a… After the war-storm. Mr. Someone’… Killed by her lover with, I think… A fire on Blank Street and some b…

Off Santa Cruz the western wave Was crimson as with blood: The sun was sinking to his grave Beneath that angry flood. Sir Walter Turnbull, brave and st…

O very remarkable mortal, What food is engaging your jaws And staining with amber their port… 'It’s ‘baccy I chaws.’ And why do you sway in your walkin…