Earth, With Her Thousand Voices, Praises God.

Be Not Merely A Man Of Letters! Let Literature Be An Honorable Augmentations To Your Arms, Not Constitute The Coat Or Fill The Escutcheon!

The River Rhine, It Is Well Known, Doth Wash Your City Of Cologne; But Tell Me, Nymphs! What Power Divine Shall Henceforth Wash The River Rhine?

Nor Dim Nor Red, Like God's Own Head, The Glorious Sun Uprist

You Do Not Believe, You Only Believe That You Believe.

And Looking To The Heaven, That Bends Above You, How Oft! I Bless The Lot, That Made Me Love You.