The Buried Talent Is The Sunken Rock

For Right Is Right, Since God Is God.

Each Hour Comes With Some Little Faggot Of God's Will Fastened Upon Its Back.

The World Is Growing Old;who Would Not Be At Rest And Freewhere Love Is Never Cold?

We Must Have Passed Through Life Unobservantly, If We Have Never Perceived That A Man Is Very Much Himself What He Thinks Of Others.

Labour Itself Is But A Sorrowful Song,the Protest Of The Weak Against The Strong.