All Love Is Lost But Upon God

I That In Heill Wes And Gladnes Am Trublit Now With Gret Seiknes And Feblit With Infermite: Timor Mortis Conturbat Me.* * Fear Of Death Troubles Me.

Our Pleasance Here Is All Vain Glory, This False Warld Is But Transitory.

Noble Men In The Quiet Of Morning Hear Indians Singing The Continent's Violent Requiem.

Your Law May Be Perfect, Your Knowledge Of Human Affairs May Be Such As To Enable You To Apply It With Wisdom And Skill, And Yet Without Individual Acquaintance With Men, Their Haunts And Habits, The Pursuit Of The Profession Becomes Difficult, Slow, And Expensive.

To God Be Humble, To Thy Friend Be Kind, And With Thy Neighbors Gladly Lend And Borrow; His Chance Tonight, It Maybe Thine Tomorrow.