New Angel Mine, Unhoped For In The

Of Writing Many Books There Is No End.

Wall Must Get The Weather Stain Before They Grow The Ivy.

Some People Always Sigh In Thanking God.

The Tyrant Should Take Heed To What He Doth, Since Every Victim-carrion Turns To Use, And Drives A Chariot, Like A God Made Wroth, Against Each Piled Injustice.

There, That Is Our Secret: Go To Sleep! You Will Wake, And Remember, And Understand.