From Him [death] Alone Of All The

It Is Easy When We Are In Prosperity To Give Advice To The Afflicted.

O Death The Healer, Scorn Thou Not, I Pray, To Come To Me: Of Cureless Ills Thou Art The One Physician. Pain Lays Not Its Touch Upon A Corpse.

The Reward Of Pain Is Experience.

Chorus: Zeus, Who Guided Men To Think Who Laid It Down That Wisdom Comes Alone Through Suffering. Still There Drips In Sleep Against The Heart Grief Of Memory; Against Our Pleasure We Are Temperate.

For The Poison Of Hatred Seated Near The Heart Doubles The Burden For The One Who Suffers The Disease; He Is Burdened With His Own Sorrow, And Groans On Seeing Another's Happiness.