A Disputant No More Cares For The

Interspersed In Lawn And Opening Glades, Thin Trees Arise That Shun Each Others' Shades.

A God Without Dominion, Providence, And Final Causes, Is Nothing Else But Fate And Nature.

Our Business In The Field Of Fight, Is Not To Question, But To Prove Our Might.

In Adamantine Chains Shall Death Be Bound, And Hell's Grim Tyrant Feel Th' Eternal Wound.

Leave Not A Foot Of Verse, A Foot Of Stone, A Page, A Grave, That They Can Call Their Own; But Spread, My Sons, Your Glory Thin Or Thick, On Passive Paper, Or On Solid Brick.