Tis A Cruelty To Load A Fallen

Look, The World's Comforter, With Weary Gait, His Day's Hot Task Hath Ended In The West: The Owl, Night's Herald, Shrieks-'tis Very Late; The Sheep Are Gone To Fold, Birds To Their Nest; And Coal-black Clouds, That Shadow Heaven's Light, Do Summon Us To Part, And Bid Good Night.

The Prince Of Darkness Is A Gentleman!

Men's Evil Manners Live In Brass; Their Virtues We Write In Water.

Let Us Not Burden Our Remembrances With A Heaviness That's Gone.

Well, God Give Them Wisdom That Have It; And Those That Are Fools, Let Them Use Their Talents.