Death Is Terrible, Tho' Borne On Angels'

I Care Not Whether A Man Is Good Or Evil; All That I Care / Is Whether He Is A Wise Man Or A Fool. Go! Put Off Holiness, / And Put On Intellect.

For The Eye Altering Alters All; The Senses Roll Themselves In Fear And The Flat Earth Becomes A Ball.

Piping Down The Valleys Wild, Piping Songs Of Pleasant Glee, On A Cloud I Saw A Child, And He Laughing Said To Me: "pipe A Song About A Lamb." So I Piped With Merry Cheer; "piper, Pipe That Song Again." So I Piped; He Wept To Hear.

The Ruins Of Time Build Mansions In Eternity.

O White-robed Angel, Guide My Timorous Hand To Write As On A Lofty Rock With Iron Pen The Words Of Truth, That All Who Pass May Read.