We Must Not Be Content To Be

Our Acts Our Angels Are, For Good Or Ill, Our Fatal Shadows That Walk By Us Still.

He Who Goes To Bed, And Goes To Bed Sober, Falls As The Leaves Do, And Dies In October; But He Who Goes To Bed, And Goes To Bed Mellow, Lives As He Ought To Do, And Dies An Honest Fellow.

Corruption Is A Tree, Whose Branches Are Of An Immeasurable Length: They Spread Ev'rywhere; And The Dew That Drops From Thence Hath Infected Some Chairs And Stools Of Authority.

Man Is His Own Star, And The Soul That Can Render An Honest And A Perfect Man, Commands All Light.

We Must Not Be Content To Be Cleansed From Sin; We Must Be Filled With The Spirit.