Fools Rush In Where Angels Fear To

A Brain Of Feathers, And A Heart Of Lead.

Tis Use Alone That Sanctifies Expense And Splendor Borrow All Her Rays From Sense.

What Conscience Dictates To Be Done, Or Warns Me Not To Do; This Teach Me More Than Hell To Shun, That More Than Heav'n Pursue.

Lend, Lend Your Wings! I Mount! I Fly! O Grave! Where Is Thy Victory? O Death! Where Is Thy Sting?

These Riches Are Possess'd, But Not Enjoy'd!