If We Had No Winter, The Spring

Authority Without Wisdom Is Like A Heavy Ax Without An Edge -- Fitter To Bruise Than Polish.

I Happy Am, If Well With You.

O Time The Fatal Wrack Of Mortal Things, That Draws Oblivion's Curtains Over Kings; Their Sumptuous Monuments, Men Know Them Not, Their Names Without A Record Are Forgot, Their Parts, Their Ports, Their Pomps All Laid In Th' Dust Nor Wit Nor Gold, Nor Buildings Scape Time's Rust; But He Whose Name Is Graved In The White Stone Shall Last And Shine When All Of These Are Gone.

The Stones And Trees, Insensible To Time, / Nor Age Nor Wrinkle On Their Front Are Seen; / If Winter Come, And Greenness Then Do Fade / A Spring Returns, And They More Youthful Made; / But Man Grows Old, Lies Down, Remains Where Once He's Laid.

There Is No Object That We See; No Action That We Do; No Good That We Enjoy; No Evil That We Feel, Or Fear, But We May Make Some Spiritual Advantage Of All: And He That Makes Such Improvement Is Wise, As Well As Pious.