Fun I Love, But Too Much Fun

Mock On, Mock On, Voltaire, Rousseau! Mock On, Mock On: 'tis All In Vain! You Throw The Sand Against The Wind, And The Wind Blows It Back Again. And Every Sand Becomes A Gem Reflected In The Beams Divine; Blown Back They Blind The Mocking Eye, But Still In Israel's Paths They Shine. The Atoms Of Democritus And Newton's Particles Of Light Are Sands Upon The Red Sea Shore, Where Israel's Tents Do Shine So Bright.

I Am Under The Direction Of Messengers From Heaven Daily And Nightly.

Bring Me An Axe And Spade, Bring Me A Winding-sheet; When I My Grave Have Made Let Winds And Tempests Beat: Then Down I'll Lie As Cold As Clay. True Love Doth Pass Away!

Praises Reap Not! Joys Laugh Not! Sorrows Weep Not!

He Who Desires, But Acts Not, Breeds Pestilence.