Hell Is Full Of Good Intentions.

Here Rests His Head Upon The Lap Of Earth, A Youth To Fortune And To Fame Unknown: Fair Science Frown'd Not On His Humble Birth, And Melancholy Mark'd Him For Her Own.

If The Best Man's Faults Were Written On His Forehead, He Would Draw His Hat Over His Eyes.

Alas, Regardless Of Their Doom, The Little Victims Play! No Sense Have They Of Ills To Come Nor Care Beyond Today.

The Time Will Come, When Thou Shalt Lift Thine Eyes To Watch A Long-drawn Battle In The Skies. While Aged Peasants, Too Amazed For Words, Stare At The Flying Fleets Of Wondrous Birds.

Where Once My Careless Childhood Strayed, / A Stranger Yet To Pain.