My Heart Contains Of Good, Wise, Just,

Cyriack, Whose Grandsire On The Royal Bench Of British Themis, With No Mean Applause Pronounced And In His Volumes Taught Our Laws, Which Others At Their Bar So Often Wrench

United Thoughts And Counsels, Equal Hope And Hazard In The Glorious Enterprise.

A Beardless Cynic Is The Shame Of Nature.

The Great Creator From His Work Returned Magnificent, His Six Days' Work, A World.

Ask For This Great Deliverer Now, And Find Him Eyeless In Gaza At The Mill With Slaves.