Cling To Thy Native Land, For It

Whatever Lives, Lives To Die In Sorrow. We Engage Our Hearts, And Grasp After The Things Of This World, Only To Undergo The Pang Of Losing Them.

The Dictates Of The Heart Are The Voice Of Fate.

Day's Lustrous Eyes Grow Heavy In Sweet Death.

In A Narrow Circle The Mind Contracts. Man Grows With His Expanded Needs.

Like A Dart The Present Glances, Silent Stands The Past Sublime.