God Made Thee Perfect, Not Immutable.

By Night The Glass Of Galileo ... Observes Imagin'd Land And Regions In The Moon.

Look Homeward, Angel, Now, And Melt With Ruth.

Where There Is Much Desire To Learn, There Of Necessity Will Be Much Arguing, Much Writing, For Opinion In Good Men Is But Knowledge In The Making.

Our Cure, To Be No More; Sad Cure!

Avenge, O Lord, Thy Slaughtered Saints, Whose Bones Lie Scattered On The Alpine Mountains Cold; Ev'n Them Who Kept Thy Truth So Pure Of Old When All Our Fathers Worshipped Stocks And Stones Forget Not.