sentences of any more first-degree murderers and said Id

Has made us laugh until we cried,

And, sinking back exhausted, sighed,

O'er all Tom Sawyer did and planned,

With him of the Ensanguined Hand,

Spirit of mirth, whose chime of bells

Shakes on his cap, and sweetly swells

Grant that Mark's laughter never die,

That men, through many a century,