God Planteth In Mortal Men The Cause

Words Are Healers Of The Sick Tempered.

Know Yourself And Fit Yourself To New Fashions. For There Is A New Ruler Among The Gods.

For Wherein Is Life Sweet To Him Who Suffers Grief?

Unjustly Men Hate Death, Which Is The Greatest Defence Against Their Many Ills.

On Me The Tempest Falls. It Does Not Make Me Tremble. O Holy Mother Earth, O Air And Sun, Behold Me. I Am Wronged.