The Common Damn'd Shun Their Society.

Friendship! Mysterious Cement Of The Soul, Sweet'ner Of Life, And Solder Of Society.

How Shocking Must Thy Summons Be, O Death, To Him That Is At Ease In His Possessions! Who, Counting On Long Years Of Pleasure Here, Is Quite Unfurnished For The World To Come.

Industry Is Not Only The Instrument Of Improvement, But The Foundation Of Pleasure. He Who Is A Stranger To It May Possess, But Cannot Enjoy, For It Is Labor Only Which Gives Relish To Pleasure. It Is The Indispensable Condition Of Possessing A Sound Mind In A Sound Body, And It Is The Appointed Vehicle Of Every Good To Man.

Whistling Aloud To Bear His Courage Up.

When It Draws Near To Witching Time Of Night.