The Path Is Smooth That Leadeth On

Words Without Thoughts Never To Heaven Go.

Thus Die I, Thus, Thus, Thus. Now Am I Dead, Now Am I Fled; My Soul Is In The Sky: Tongue, Lose Thy Light; Moon Take Thy Flight. Now Die, Die, Die, Die, Die.

Before, I Loved Thee As A Brother, John, But Now, I Do Respect Thee As My Soul.

England, Bound In With The Triumphant Sea, Whose Rocky Shore Beats Back The Envious Siege Of Watery Neptune.

Life Every Man Holds Dear; But The Dear Man Holds Honor Far More Precious Dear Than Life.