...ere Midnight’s Frown And Morning’s Smile, Ere

My Father Time Is Weak And Gray With Waiting For A Better Day; See How Idiot-like He Stands, Fumbling With His Palsied Hands!

The Soul's Joy Lies In Doing.

I Cannot Endure The Horror, The Evil, Which Comes To Self In Solitude.

The Howl Of Self-interest Is Loud ... But The Heart Is Black Which Throbs Solely To Its Note.

Those Who Love Not Their Fellow-beings Live Unfruitful Lives, And Prepare For Their Old Age A Miserable Grave.