I Speak With The Eternal Through The

Whatever Lives, Lives To Die In Sorrow. We Engage Our Hearts, And Grasp After The Things Of This World, Only To Undergo The Pang Of Losing Them.

What Else Is Chance But The Rude Stone Which Receives Its Life From The Sculptor's Hand? Providence Gives Us Chance, And Man Must Mould It To His Own Designs.

Soon Is The Struggle Past, And To The Earth, To The Eternal Sun, I Render Back These Atoms, Joined In Me For Pain And Pleasure.

Wouldst Thou Know Thyself, Observe The Actions Of Others. Wouldst Thou Other Men Know, Look Thou Within Thine Own Heart.

What The Inner Voice Says Will Not Disappoint The Hoping Soul.