His Face Was Filled With

Man With His Burning Soul Has But An Hour Of Breath To Build A Ship Of Truth In Which His Soul May Sail- Sail On The Sea Of Death. For Death Takes Toll Of Beauty, Courage, Youth, Of All But Truth.

The Thames Is A Wretched River After The Mersey And The Ships Are Not Like Liverpool Ships And The Docks Are Barren Of Beauty ... It Is A Beastly Hole After Liverpool; For Liverpool Is The Town Of My Heart And I Would Rather Sail A Mudflat There Than Command A Clipper Out Of London

Success Is The Brand On The Brow Of The Man Who Aimed Too Low.

God Dropped A Spark Down Into Everyone, And If We Find And Fan It To A Blaze, It'll Spring Up And Glow, Like--like The Sun, And Light The Wandering Out Of Stony Ways.

His Face Was Filled With Broken Commandments.