And Gain Is Gain, However Small.

Talent Should Minister To Genius.

Who Knows Most, Doubts Most; Entertaining Hope Means Recognizing Fear.

Have You Found Your Life Distasteful? My Life Did, And Does, Smack Sweet. Was Your Youth Of Pleasure Wasteful? Mine I Saved And Hold Complete. Do Your Joys With Age Diminish? When Mine Fail Me, I'll Complain. Must In Death Your Daylight Finish? My Sun Sets To Rise Again.

We Shall March Prospering,-not Thro' His Presence; Songs May Inspirit Us,-not From His Lyre; Deeds Will Be Done,-while He Boasts His Quiescence, Still Bidding Crouch Whom The Rest Bade Aspire.

As Is Your Sort Of Mind, So Is Your Sort Of Search: You Will Find What You Desire.