Death In Itself Is Nothing; But We

The Thought Of Being Nothing After Death Is A Burden Insupportable To A Virtuous Man.

Wit Will Shine Through The Harsh Cadence Of A Rugged Line.

What, Start At This! When Sixty Years Have Spread. Their Grey Experience O'er Thy Hoary Head? Is This The All Observing Age Could Gain? Or Hast Thou Known The World So Long In Vain?

The Love Of Liberty With Life Is Given, And Life Itself The Inferior Gift Of Heaven.

What Passion Cannot Music Raise And Quell!