The Glorious Lamp Of Heaven, The Radiant

Jealousy's A Proof Of Love, But 'tis A Weak And Unavailing Medicine; It Puts Out The Disease And Makes It Show, But Has No Power To Cure.

To Tame The Proud, The Fetter'd Slave To Free, These Are Imperial Arts.

Pains Of Love Be Sweeter Far Than All Other Pleasures Are.

Death Only This Mysterious Truth Unfolds, The Mighty Soul How Small A Body Holds.

The Brave Man Seeks Not Popular Applause, Nor, Overpower'd With Arms, Deserts His Cause; Unsham'd, Though Foil'd, He Does The Best He Can, Force Is Of Brutes, But Honor Is Of Man.