What Passion Cannot Music Raise And Quell!

Nothing To Build, And All Things To Destroy.

The Jews, A Headstrong, Moody, Murmuring Race.

An Hour Will Come, With Pleasure To Relate Your Sorrows Past, As Benefits Of Fate.

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

All Empire Is No More Than Power In Trust.