It Was That Fatal And Perfidious Bark,

The Spirit Of Man, Which God Inspired, Cannot Together Perish With This Corporeal Clod.

Apt Words Have Power To Suage The Tumors Of A Troubled Mind.

A Beardless Cynic Is The Shame Of Nature.

God Doth Not Need Either Man's Work Or His Own Gifts. Who Best Bear His Mild Yoke, They Serve Him Best. His State Is Kingly: Thousands At His Bidding Speed, And Post O'er Land And Ocean Without Rest; They Also Serve Who Only Stand And Wait.

Bid Amaranthus All His Beauty Shed, And Daffodillies Fill Their Cups With Tears, To Strew The Laureate To Hearse When Lycid Lies.