Shun Death, Is My Advice.

What's Come To Perfection Perishes. Things Learned On Earth We Shall Practice In Heaven; Works Done Least Rapidly Art Most Cherishes.

I Give The Fight Up: Let There Be An End, A Privacy, An Obscure Nook For Me. I Want To Be Forgotten Even By God.

Pleasure Must Succeed To Pleasure, Else Past Pleasure Turns To Pain

We Shall March Prospering,-not Thro' His Presence; Songs May Inspirit Us,-not From His Lyre; Deeds Will Be Done,-while He Boasts His Quiescence, Still Bidding Crouch Whom The Rest Bade Aspire.

A Whole I Planned, Youth Shows But Half; Trust God: See All, Nor Be Afraid!