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The child is not mine as the first was,_x000D_ I cannot sing it to rest,_x000D_ I cannot lift it up fatherly_x000D_ And bliss it upon my breast;_x000D_ Yet it lies in my little one's cradle_x000D_ And sits in my little one's chair,_x000D_ And the light of the heaven she's gone to_x000D_ Transfigures its golden hair.
James Russell Lowell
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I have always been of the mind that in a democracy manners are the only effective weapons against the bowie-knife.
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Good luck is the willing handmaid of upright, energetic character, and conscientious observance of duty.
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Puritanism, believing itself quick with the seed of religious liberty, laid, without knowing it, the egg of democracy.
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