The Greater Part Performed Achieves The Less.

God Never Made His Work For Man To Mend.

She, Though In Full-blown Flower Of Glorious Beauty, Grows Cold Even In The Summer Of Her Age.

A Lazy Frost, A Numbness Of The Mind.

No King Nor Nation One Moment Can Retard The Appointed Hour.

…so When The Last And Dreadful Hour This Crumbling Pageant Shall Devour, The Trumpet Shall Be Heard On High, The Dead Shall Live, The Living Die, And Music Shall Untune The Sky