Free From Gross Passion Or Of Mirth

Thou Shalt Be Free As Mountain Winds: But Then Exactly Do All Points Of My Command.

But Men Are Men; The Best Sometimes Forget.

Look, The World's Comforter, With Weary Gait, His Day's Hot Task Hath Ended In The West: The Owl, Night's Herald, Shrieks-'tis Very Late; The Sheep Are Gone To Fold, Birds To Their Nest; And Coal-black Clouds, That Shadow Heaven's Light, Do Summon Us To Part, And Bid Good Night.

Let Each Man Do His Best.

This World To Me Is Like A Lasting Storm,whirring Me From My Friends.