Call It Not Vain: They Do Not

Here Eglantine Embalm'd The Air, Hawthorne And Hazel Mingled There; The Primrose Pale, And Violet Flower, Found In Each Cliff A Narrow Bower; Fox-glove And Nightshade, Side By Side, Emblems Of Punishment And Pride, Group'd Their Dark Hues With Every Stain The Weather-beaten Crags Retain.

That Day Of Wrath, That Dreadful Day. When Heaven And Earth Shall Pass Away.

Despite Those Titles, Power, And Pelf, The Wretch, Concentred All In Self, Living, Shall Forfeit Fair Renown, And, Doubly Dying, Shall Go Down To The Vile Dust, From Whence He Sprung, Unwept, Unhonor'd, And Unsung.

Time Rolls His Ceaseless Course.

Fortune May Raise Up Or Abuse The Ordinary Mortal, But The Sage And The Soldier Should Have Minds Beyond Her Control.