I Care Not, A Man Can Die

But Say, My Lord, It Were Not Regist'red, Methinks The Truth Should Live From Age To Age, As 'twere Retailed To All Posterity, Even To The General All-ending Day.

Have I Thought Long To See This Morning’s Face, And Doth It Give Me Such A Sight As This?

Though Patience Be A Tired Mare, Yet She Will Plod.

So Every Bondman In His Own Hand Bears The Power To Cancel His Captivity.

Write Till Your Ink Be Dry, And With Your Tears Moist It Again, And Frame Some Feeling Line That May Discover Such Integrity.