Hark! here the sound of lute so sweet, And there the voice of wailing loud; Here scholars grave in conclave meet, There howls the brawling drunken crowd; Here, charming maidens full of glee, There, tottering, withered dames we see. Such light! Such shade! I cannot tell, If here we live in heaven or hell.
He was a cowboy, mister, and he loved the land. He loved it so much he made a woman out of dirt and married her. But when he kissed her, she disintegrated. Later, at the funeral, when the preacher said, 'Dust to dust,' some people laughed, and the cowboy shot them. At his hanging, he told the others, 'I'll be waiting for you in heaven---with a gun.'
He who has more learning than goodness is like a tree with many branches and few roots, which the first wind throws down; whilst he whose works are greater than his knowledge is like a tree with many roots and fewer branches, which all the winds of heaven cannot uproot.