The Time Is Ripe, And

A Weed Is No More Than A Flower In Disguise.

Toward No Crimes Have Men Shown Themselves So Cold- Bloodedly Cruel As In Punishing Differences Of Belief.

His Heart Kep' Goin' Pity-pat, But Hern Went Pity-zekle.

Violet! Sweet Violet! Thine Eyes Are Full Of Tears; Are They Wet Even Yet With The Thought Of Other Years?

It Is Mediocrity Which Makes Laws And Sets Mantraps And Spring-guns In The Realm Of Free Song, Saying Thus Far Shalt Thou Go And No Further.