Tyranny Is Yielding To The Lust Of

Weep No More, Nor Sigh, Nor Groan, Sorrow Calls No Time That 's Gone; Violets Plucked, The Sweetest Rain Makes Not Fresh Nor Grow Again.

Joys As Winged Dreams Fly Fast, / Why Should Sadness Longer Last? / Grief Is But A Wound To Woe; / Gentlest Fair, Mourn, Mourn No Moe.

Man Is His Own Star, And The Soul That Can, Render An Honest And A Perfect Man, Commands All Light, All Influence, All Fate: Nothing To Him Falls Early Or Too Late. Our Acts Are Angels Are, For Good Or Ill: Our Fatal Shadows That Walk By Us Still.

Only Look To Jesus. He Died For You, Died In Your Place, Died Under The Frowns Of Heaven, That We Might Die Under Its Smile.

O Great Corrector Of Enormous Times, Shaker Of O'er-rank States, Thou Grand Decider Of Dusty And Old Titles, That Healest With Blood The Earth When It Is Sick, And Curest The World O' The Pleurisy Of People.