All Our Life Is But A Going

The Rich Have No More Of The Kingdom Of Heaven Than They Have Purchased Of The Poor By Their Alms.

Let Me Arrest Thy Thoughts, Wonder With Me, Why Ploughing, Building, Ruling And The Rest, Or Most Of Those Arts, Whence Our Lives Are Blessed, By Cursed Cain's Race Invented Be, And Blessed Seth Vexed Us With Astronomy.

Old Grandsires Talk Of Yesterday With Sorrow, And For Our Children We Reserve Tomorrow.

To Rage, To Lust, To Write To, To Commend, All Is The Purlieu Of The God Of Love.

Be More Than Man, Or Thou'rt Less Than An Ant.