JAMES THOMAS FIELDS

Just then, with a wink and a sly normal lurch, The owl very gravely got down from his perch, Walked round, and regarded his fault-finding critic (Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance analytic.

Oh, to be home again, home again, home again! Under the apple-boughs, down by the mill!

How sweet and gracious, even in common speech, Is that fine sense which men call Courtesy! Wholesome as air and genial as the light, Welcome in every clime as breath of flowers, It transmutes aliens into trusting friends, And gives its owner passport round the globe.

What we sow in youth we reap in age; the seed of the thistle always produces the thistle.

Let heaven-eyed Prudence battle with Desire.

Is n't God upon the ocean Just the same as on the land?

A farmer travelling with his load Picked up a horseshoe on the road, And nailed if fast to his barn door, That luck might down upon him pour; That every blessing known in life Might crown his homestead and his wife, And never any kind of harm Descend upon his growing farm.

Inner sunshine warms not only the heart of the owner, but all who come in contact with it.

The man who tells me an indelicate story does me an injury.

A farmer travelling with his load Picked up a horseshoe on the road, And nailed if fast to his barn door, That luck might down upon him pour; That every blessing known in life Might crown his homestead and his wife, And never any kind of harm Descend upon his growing farm.

Oh, to be home again, home again, home again! Under the apple-boughs, down by the mill!

Is n't God upon the ocean Just the same as on the land?

Inner sunshine warms not only the heart of the owner, but all who come in contact with it.

How sweet and gracious, even in common speech, Is that fine sense which men call Courtesy! Wholesome as air and genial as the light, Welcome in every clime as breath of flowers, It transmutes aliens into trusting friends, And gives its owner passport round the globe.

The man who tells me an indelicate story does me an injury.

What we sow in youth we reap in age; the seed of the thistle always produces the thistle.

Let heaven-eyed Prudence battle with Desire.

Just then, with a wink and a sly normal lurch, The owl very gravely got down from his perch, Walked round, and regarded his fault-finding critic (Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance analytic.