You Smile With Pomp And Rigor, You

Like A Fiend In A Cloud, With Howling Woe, After Night I Do Crowd, And With Night Will Go; I Turn My Back To The East, From Whence Comforts Have Increased; For Light Doth Seize My Brain With Frantic Pain.

O Why Was I Born With A Different Face? Why Was I Not Born Like The Rest Of My Race?

The Fool Shall Not Enter Into Heaven Let Him Be Ever So Holy.

Every Thing Possible To Be Believ'd Is An Image Of Truth.

Every Tear From Every Eyebecomes A Babe In Eternity.