Neither Our Vices Nor Our Virtues Further

London, Thou Art The Flower Of Cities All! Gemme Of All Joy, Jasper Of Jocunditie.

All Love Is Lost But Upon God Alone.

To God Be Humble, To Thy Friend Be Kind, And With Thy Neighbors Gladly Lend And Borrow; His Chance Tonight, It Maybe Thine Tomorrow.

I That In Heill Wes And Gladnes Am Trublit Now With Gret Seiknes And Feblit With Infermite: Timor Mortis Conturbat Me.* * Fear Of Death Troubles Me.

Noble Men In The Quiet Of Morning Hear Indians Singing The Continent's Violent Requiem.