Oh, Could We Lift The Future's Sable

The Beautiful Are Never Desolate; But Some One Alway Loves Them--god Or Man. If Man Abandons, God Himself Takes Them.

Hell Is The Wrath Of God--his Hate Of Sin.

Burn To Be Great, Pay Not Thy Praise To Lofty Things Alone. The Plains Are Everlasting As The Hills, The Bard Cannot Have Two Pursuits; Aught Else Comes On The Mind With The Like Shock As Though Two Worlds Had Gone To War, And Met In Air.

As The Master So The Valet.

It Is No Great Misfortune To Oblige Ungrateful People, But An Unsupportable One To Be Forced To Be Under An Obligation To A Scoundrel.