On his bold visage middle age had slightly pressed its signet sage, yet had not quenched the open truth and fiery vehemence of youth: forward and frolic glee was there, the will to do, the soul to dare.

Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.

Just at the age ‘twixt boy and youth, When thought is speech, and speech is truth.

Is she not more than painting can express, Or youthful poets fancy when they love?

I ‘d rather be handsome than homely; l ‘d rather be youthful than old; lf l can’t have a bushel of silver I’ll do with a barrel of gold.

Gentlest and bravest in the battle-brunt- The Champion of the Truth- he bore his banner to the very front of our immortal youth.

Even such is time, that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with age and dust; Who in the dark and silent grave, when we have wandered all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days. But from this earth, this grave, this dust, My God shall raise me up, l trust!

In youth and beauty wisdom is but rare!

Forgetful youth! But know, the power above with ease can save each object of his love; wide as his will extends his boundless grace.

Who dies in youth and vigour, dies the best.