Just for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a riband to stick in his coat.

If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.

He lived amidst th'untrodden ways To Rydal Lake that lead:- A bard whom there were none to praise, And very few to read. Behind a cloud his mystic sense, Deep-…

What we need is not the will to believe, but the wish to find out.

Give me, instead of beauty's bust, A tender heart, a loyal mind, Which with temptation I could trust, Yet never linked with error find.

There was not one of my blood, in or out of the Union Army who was not either serving and sacrificing at home or suffering and dying among the hills and valley…

El traidor no es menester siendo la traicion pasada.