The Best Prophet Of The Future Is

Why Do They Call Me Misanthrope? Because They Hate Me, Not I Them.

Who Tracks The Steps Of Glory To The Grave?

That Music In Itself, Whose Sounds Are Song, The Poetry Of Speech.

I Cannot Help Thinking That The Menace Of Hell Makes As Many Devils As The Severe Penal Codes Of Inhuman Humanity Make Villains.

The Poor Dog, In Life The Firmest Friend, The First To Welcome, Foremost To Defend, Whose Honest Heart Is Still The Master's Own, Who Labours, Fights, Lives, Breathes For Him Alone, Unhonour'd Falls, Unnoticed All His Worth, Denied In Heaven The Soul He Held On Earth, While Man, Vain Insect Hopes To Be Forgiven, And Claims Himself A Sole Exclusive Heaven.