Fear Is Stronger Than Arms.

Whenever A Man Makes Haste, God Too Hastens With Him.

God Planteth In Mortal Men The Cause Of Sin Whensoever He Wills Utterly To Destroy A House.

Justice Shines In Very Smoky Homes, And Honors The Righteous; But The Gold-spangled Mansions Where The Hands Are Unclean She Leaves With Eyes Averted.

Pain Lays Not Its Touch Upon A Corpse.

Watchful Are The Gods Of All Hands With Slaughter Stained. The Black Furies Wait, And When A Man Has Grown By Luck, Not Justice, Great, With Sudden Overturn Of Chance They Wear Him To A Shade, And, Cast Down To Perdition, Who Shall Save Him?