Flesh Of My Flesh, Bone Of My

Sweet Words Are Like Honey, A Little May Refresh, But Too Much Gluts The Stomach.

My Hope And Treasure Lies Above

A Prosperous State Makes A Secure Christian, But Adversity Makes Him Consider.

But Man Grows Old, Lies Down, Remains Where Once He's Laid.

O Time The Fatal Wrack Of Mortal Things, That Draws Oblivion's Curtains Over Kings; Their Sumptuous Monuments, Men Know Them Not, Their Names Without A Record Are Forgot, Their Parts, Their Ports, Their Pomps All Laid In Th' Dust Nor Wit Nor Gold, Nor Buildings Scape Time's Rust; But He Whose Name Is Graved In The White Stone Shall Last And Shine When All Of These Are Gone.