Death Submits To No One.

Men In Their Generations Are Like The Leaves Of The Trees. The Wind Blows And One Year's Leaves Are Scattered On The Ground; But The Trees Burst Into Bud And Put On Fresh Ones When The Spring Comes Round.

Bursts As A Wave That From The Clouds Impends, And Swell'd With Tempests On The Ship Descends; White Are The Decks With Foam; The Winds Aloud Howl O'er The Masts, And Sing Through Every Shroud: Pale, Trembling, Tir'd, The Sailors Freeze With Fears; And Instant Death On Every Wave Appears.

It Behooves A Father To Be Blameless If He Expects His Child To Be.

It Is Not Good To Have A Rule Of Many.

Come Then, Put Away Your Sword In Its Sheath, And Let Us Two Go Up Into My Bed So That, Lying Together In The Bed Of Love, We May Then Have Faith And Trust In Each Other.