A Small Drop Of Ink Makes Thousands,

Exhausting Thought, And Hiving Wisdom With Each Studious Year.

None Are So Desolate But Something Dear, Dearer Than Self, Possesses Or Possess'd A Thought, And Claims The Homage Of A Tear.

Here Lies Interred In The Eternity Of The Past, From Whence There Is No Resurrection For The Days - Whatever There May Be For The Dust - The Thirty-third Year Of An Ill-spent Life, Which, After A Lingering Disease Of Many Months Sank Into A Lethargy, And Expired, January 22d, 1821, A.d. Leaving A Successor Inconsolable For The Very Loss Which Occasioned Its Existence.

Armenian Is The Language To Speak With God.

That Music In Itself, Whose Sounds Are Song, The Poetry Of Speech.