"A land of promise flowing with the milk
And honey of delicious memories."
--Tennyson, The Lover's Tale.
| The Last Trump. | [451 S.A.] |
"So when the last and dreadful hour
This crumbling pageant shall devour,
The trumpet shall be heard on high
The dead shall live, the living die,
And Music shall untune the sky."
--Dryden, A Song for St. Cecilia's Day.
| Let not Thy Left Hand Know What Thy Right Hand Doeth. | [111 L.J.] |
"Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand
doeth! Neither shalt thou prate even to thy own
heart of 'those secrets known to all.'"
--Carlyle, Sartor Resartus. Book III, Chapter 3.
| A Light Hid under a Bushel. | [106 L.J.] |